The Continuing Story of Quinn Fabray
by wholemottalovin
Summary: "I was seriously convinced that she was going to break me. What I didn't know then, though, was that I was already broken and she was going to be the one to fix me." Quinn's POV. Rated M for language and later chapters.
1. Prologue: Girl

an: this is my first fic so any comments/suggestions/criticisms are not only welcomed, but encouraged! I've been hoarding this away for a while because I was so nervous to post it but now that I've finally ovary'd up, I'm excited for someone (even if it's only one person) to see it! I really, truly, honestly hope you enjoy reading because I'm enjoying writing :)

Disclaimer: I don't even technically own my car, let alone a whole TV show or any of its characters.

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Prologue: Girl

Until I was around 14, everything about me, from my untamable brown hair to my fascination with combining socks and sandals, was nerdy. I was chubby, I had braces, and my glasses looked like they belonged to an elderly woman who was dead-set on reading nothing _but_ the fine-print. I was well versed in all things science fiction and I had a love for classic rock deeper than the Atlantic. I was, quite possibly, the physical manifestation of the word awkward.

Of course, I was never aware of the fact that I was "weird" until I was told _just_ how weird I was. I was told at a young age (and in a surprisingly meticulous amount of detail) everything that made me different from everyone else. The extent to which I was bullied made me almost assume that I was some sort of life-force, that I was single-handedly keeping these children well-fed and well-rested because after a while, I truly believed that these jackasses could neither eat nor sleep without the knowledge of how they had made my life a hell that day (Now that I can look back upon these events with a slight sense of humor, I would like to give a "you're welcome" to all of the people who ever bullied me. Also, a thank you to my first grade teacher, Mrs. White, for reading that Thomas the Train book to our class and teaching the word "caboose" to a room full of my evil-minded peers. That name stuck for an unnecessarily long time. I don't want to say it's entirely your fault, but I do believe that you owe me some sort of compensation.).

The kids at my school were ruthless. Most kids at that age are. They didn't care that I was an honor student. They didn't care that I had an awesome record collection and I was really good at drawing. They only cared that I was different, that I wasn't like them. They took the things that made me feel special and used them against me. They made me lose sight of myself and they made me want to hide the best parts of me. The pieces that kept me optimistic for so long. Because of them, I lost the child-like outlook, the part that says there's a little bit of good in us all, far too early. And the moment that disappears...that's one of the most tragic moments in a kid's life.

But somehow, it wasn't for me. I think the worst part about my childhood was knowing that my life at school was just the tip of the iceberg.

My parents were your stereotypical suburbia Christians. They drug me to church every Sunday and there was either a cross or a painting of White Jesus in every room of the house. And yet, for every word of scripture that they had memorized, they had countless gossip on the neighbors and judgments on anyone who they so happened to cross paths with. Even at a young age I learned to understand the irony that they were too busy with their backwards idea of God to ever really realize the error in their ways.

But my problems at home had nothing to do with my parent's twisted concept of spirituality. There's no way it could have because I could have dealt with the fact that my parents were hypocrites. Most are anyways. No, my problems were within the fact that my father was more interested in golf and scotch than why his daughter came home from school crying every day, that he was more involved in the intimate details of the lives of his coworkers than those within his own home. He was dysfunctional, to say the least, but he loved appearances far too much to ever address his own problems so instead, he made us all put on a fake smile whenever we stepped outside of the house and we ignored each other whenever we were in it.

That's why being at home was so awful. The act of being ignored, and by my own parents even, hurt far more than any words from some immature child ever could (it didn't matter what my classmates called me, feeling second-best to a bottle or a golf club was the ultimate insult). I equated their lack of attention to deafening phrases of insignificance. That's what their silence said to me. It screamed that I wasn't good enough, that I was only worthy of neglect.

And then when my mom sat me down after my last day of 8th grade, everything changed.

Before I had even made it all the way through the front door of my father's mini-mansion, my mom called me into our over-the-top formal dining room. She was sitting at the head of the table, my father's usual seat. I hadn't even fully sat down and she hadn't spoken a word yet but the look on her face was enough to tell me that things were about to become vastly different.

And that was a funny thing, really. Noticing her expression and almost instantly knowing that something was wrong. Here was someone who was practically a complete stranger to me and yet even with one simple glance, I recognized all the painful emotions etched in her skin and understood their significance. I don't know if that's an ability that came with the fact that we share DNA, that we kind of function similarly, but I'd like to think it just comes with the human condition. You know, we've all suffered so we can all recognize suffering. Or better yet, maybe it's a quality that only comes with those that we're meant to have in our lives forever, regardless of the relationship at that particular time.

But what was even funnier to me, in some sort of twisted way, was what came after. With a strength that was so obviously killing her, my mom told me that my father had ran off with the 22 year old tattoo artist who's parents lived next door. Seeing my mom in such emotional pain wasn't humorous (if anything, it opened me up to the idea that my mom was human, that we had potential), but the fact that I wasn't surprised by my father's actions at all was. I wasn't mad at him. Hell, I wasn't even sad. If anything I was curious. Just curious. I had seen the neighbor's daughter and I didn't really think she was leave-your-family-at-the-drop-of-a-dime special. But I wanted to know, what _was_ so special about her? There had to be something...what was it?

I guess I had other questions for him too, but I knew he was never going to be there to give me any answers so I decided to stop asking them. I kind of just decided to stop thinking about my father completely, which became a hell of a lot easier when my mom dropped one final bomb on me:

She told me that, because of the nature of my parent's divorce, she was going to get the house and all of their assets. But she also said that we needed to get away from that house and everything it symbolized so we were going to be selling and moving by the end of the summer. And then it hit me. A new house meant a new school. A new school meant new people...

I was about to be thrown into a crop of new people. They didn't know anything about me, about my personality, about my past. I could be anyone to these people. I was getting a blank slate.

I was getting _a new life._

And in that moment, I realized that's exactly what this all meant to me. That's all it meant to me. I couldn't really change my history and all of the things that had happened to me, but I could definitely change my future. I took it as my one chance to change everything.

So, I decided to make this move as an opportunity for reinvention, an opportunity for acceptance and happiness. The next day, I cut my hair, dyed it blonde, and joined gymnastics. By the end of the summer, I had invested in contacts, gotten my braces off, cleared up my skin, and perfected both my back-handspring and my abs.

I turned 14 the day we moved from Belleville to Lima, Ohio and I left behind many things in the move. I left the insecurities and the fears that only fueled my isolation. I left the bullying and the tormenting loneliness. I even left the "Lucy" and made my mom start calling me Quinn. The minute I stepped foot into William McKinely High School, I was a completely new person with a new identity.

And this newly found identity had a truly remarkable effect on my personality. I became fierce, confident. I began stealing attention in a way that can only be compared to a hawk stealing away it's pray: fast, unknowingly, and _viciously_. I was immediately both feared and respected and I had never experienced anything quite like it.

It was exhilarating. People wanted to know about me. When I walked those halls with a powerful grace of which they had never seen the likes of before, they would stop and stare. They knew I was special but they didn't know why. Not yet. Not until the moment I put on that head cheerleader's uniform as a freshman. Once that happened, I officially became Quinn Fabray. _The_ Quinn Fabray.

It all happened so quick and I think that's why things got out of control like they did.

I hadn't completely figured out how to live within this new persona yet. No more than 4 months ago, I was 30 pounds heavier, a brunette, and crying in the bathroom because everyone in my class refused to dissect a frog with me. Now, I was head cheerleader and the hottest girl in school. I had never really had friends until now (regardless of how false and superficial they were) so when my teammates started picking on those that they had deemed inferior to us on William McKinely's metaphorical pyramid of social hierarchy, the only reasonable option seemed for me to conform.

And so was the beginning of the end.

At first, I only wanted to fit in. Every time I insulted someone, I saw myself in their face. Not this new me...but the me I was before and it made me feel like I was ripping my own heart out. They didn't know that though. How could they? They only saw the grade-A bitch that was calling them a loser on a semi-regular basis. When I was bullied, I never considered why _they_ were doing it. I only considered, and justly so, how it affected me.

Now I was on the other side and it felt just as goddamned terrible.

The more I did it, though, the more that the popular people, the people who "mattered," seemed to like me. I had never felt more conflicted. I was getting the attention that I had always wanted, that I felt like I had deserved...but at what cost? Myself?

This new me didn't deserve any of the attention that I _was_ getting. It was like a positive reinforcement for a negative action. Lucy would have socked me in the stomach if she saw who I had turned into. But she wasn't going to. She was gone. And once that realization sunk in, I began my steady crawl back into isolation. At least in a mental sense. Sure, I was still hanging around these new jackasses (technically I was one now too) but I never let any of them get close to me. None of them knew _me. _I guess I didn't really either anymore.

But soon enough I learned how to revel in solidarity. Being alone felt different now. This time it felt more acceptable, more manageable. I wasn't being shut off, I was closed off. I was choosing isolation. No matter how lonely I felt at times, I soon realized that loneliness felt a thousand times better than rejection.

After a while, loneliness stopped being a problem. Sometimes I would combat it with a boy or a "friend" but for the most part, I could always end up comforting myself. I would just sit in silence and somehow, within the silence, I would find myself. I learned to live within my own thoughts because I learned that they were all I had.

These thoughts were the only things I could call my own. Everything else in my life in some way or another, revolved around somebody or something else...but not my mind. My mind was my own and to share it with others was to give them the most intimate pieces of myself.

I began regarding my thoughts as some sort of prize. I didn't just hand them over...they were earned and, like the best prizes, they were not earned by many. As a matter of fact, they had been earned by no one. No one had ever broken down my walls. No one had ever actually tried and that was surprisingly okay with me. I didn't need anyone to cloud my mind. My introspection was an effective and well-oiled machine. To put someone else's perceptions into it only would have caused it to clog and the last thing that I wanted was for someone to come along and ruin the one thing that I still had going for me. I thought no one ever would. I thought no one even _could_.

And then I met Rachel Berry.

xxxx

It was the first day of second semester of freshman year. I was slumped over my desk, one hand propping my head and the other doodling mindlessly in the notebook in front of me. The teacher was babbling on about how important the subject of Medieval literature was going to be for the rest of our high school careers. I made sure to scoff loud enough for him to hear.

I had only taken the class because it was the last one available. Coach Sylvester had worked us so hard the night before class registration that I accidentally overslept and I had to take whatever classes were left over. This just so happened to be one of them. Now that I was there, I understood exactly why. Hell, the class only had six people in it and by the overwhelming looks of disinterest that were on their faces, I could have only assumed that they had made it here under similar pretenses as myself.

I heard the door open but I didn't bother to take my eyes off of my notebook. I heard a female voice, breathing heavily, say "Sorry for my tardiness. I understand how very rude it is of me to enter your classroom in such a state and how you must feel compelled to see that I serve some sort of fitting punishment for my actions. However, I can assure you that my excuse is extremely valid and I hope you will believe me when I say that I will try my hardest to make sure that this situation never arises again."

The teacher waited a few seconds before replying. I can only assume it was because he didn't want to interrupt her in case she decided that there was anything else that she felt as if she needed to squeeze in. "Right...uhh...well, don't worry about it. Just find a seat and I'll let it slide this time." He was obviously overwhelmed by the girl's intensity. I made sure to note that he was a pushover for future reference.

She thanked him and I heard her footsteps growing louder. I never bothered to look at either of them during their exchange. I didn't look up until I heard the footsteps stop directly next to me. By the time I lifted and turned my head, the girl had taken the desk right next to mine.

She seemed short and she had darker skin...Italian, maybe Spanish descent. She had far too many books stacked on her desk and it looked like the sweater she was wearing had some sort of horse on it. I thought that I may have seen her get slushied before.

When she noticed that I was looking at her, a wide, almost hyperactive smile spread across her face. "Hi! I'm Rachel Berry! It's really nice to meet you," she whispered at me, probably not as quietly as she thought. She was still smiling. I noticed that she had really nice teeth and that her mouth was huge but I thought the smile looked far too genuine for someone who intended it to be received by a stranger.

I arched one of my eyebrows in confusion, which probably made me look like I was glaring at her. "Yeah, a real pleasure." Okay, so maybe I was glaring at her. But she seemed way too excited to be talking to someone to even notice. And when she continued talking, I assumed she didn't pick up on my condescending tone either.

"Unfortunately and as you probably noticed, I was late to class and I was wondering if maybe you fill me in on what I missed. You see, as a member of the Renaissance Club, I found it quite necessary to take a class on the literature of that time period and I really don't want to miss any material. Even the smallest pieces of information could prove themselves quite useful later in life. Anyways, do you think I could look at your notes...I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?" She was looking directly into my eyes. Hers were big and brown and beautiful and I'm pretty sure her eyelashes were a mile long.

Then I realized: no one ever looked me in the eyes.

In a brief moment of self consciousness, I broke the eye contact and around her neck I found a Star of David necklace. I had never met a Jewish person before.

"Okay, first of all, I don't know who taught you history, but they seemingly forgot to tell you that most of the Renaissance was _after_ the Medieval Period. Second of all, I'm obviously not paying attention to this. It's boring and pointless and we will never use it again. Ever. Lastly, you talk too much. Far too much. As a matter of fact, if you ever talk to me again, I'm going to call the Bureau of Immigration and get you deported back to Israel. Oh, and it's Quinn Fabray, head cheerleader Quinn Fabray." I finished my barrage of insults with a patronizing smirk and I returned to my doodling. I heard her huff loudly and almost slam her notebook open.

I didn't immediately understand why I responded so harshly to her. I do now though. I had known her for less than 30 seconds and already she had an effect more profound than I ever even knew was fathomable.

She was friendly and interesting and although she was wearing a mustard yellow headband and an argyle skirt, she was extremely beautiful. She smiled at me like she was smiling at an old friend even though she knew the consequences of someone of her social status (which, I could only assume since she was a member of the Renaissance Club, was not great) trying to befriend a cheerleader.

I saw Lucy in her. With her penny loafers and her striped tights. I saw everything that I was and then I saw more. She wasn't letting insecurities or fears prevent her from being who she _really_ was. She was so much better than me as Lucy and she was a thousand times better than who I was in that moment. And that's what scared me so much about her. She wore her certainty with a natural grace that could rival a bird wearing its feathers. She seemed fearless. And here I was, hiding in a Cheerios uniform, letting it bind my soul like a straight jacket.

I knew that this girl had the potential to rewrite everything I had ever understood. Just the idea of what she could stand for terrified me. She would destroy everything that I had worked so hard to come to understand and accept about my new self.

Because before her, I at least had some grip on the reality of my condition. I understood that I had built up this persona because I knew what it was like to live a life without confidence. I always just assumed that the darkness within me would pass once I truly understood what it meant to love myself. But it never did.

I spent the next two and a half years of my life tormenting Rachel Berry, trying to tear her down, and no matter what I did, she would still end up proving that she was better than me in the end. I was seriously convinced that she was going to break me.

What I didn't know then, though, was that I was already broken and she was going to be the one to fix me.


	2. Chapter 1: Please Mr Postman

Chapter 1: Please Mr. Postman

It was Monday afternoon, the first of my senior year. I was seated in the choir room along with the rest of the glee club patiently waiting for the first meeting of the year to start. I sat quietly in my isolated seat in the back row and listened to the rest of the club discuss their summers amongst each other. I overheard various tales ranging from family vacations to brief romances to massive boredom. However, no stories could match Brittany's. None ever could.

She was telling Mercedes about how she got sun-poisoning and had to be hospitalized after getting lost in the woods outside of Lima for the whole month of June and how she was forced to join a pack of wolves in order to survive. Mercedes gave her a look of extreme disbelief (I knew Brittany was telling the truth though because Santana called me crying on the 4th of July, absolutely terrified that B had given her rabies and that she was going to have to get shots on her ass) before turning in her chair to address me. "Quinn, how was your summer?"

"Oh, it was okay."

"Do anything fun?"

"Not really. Just Cheerios."

"That's it? Girl, you need to get out more if that's your idea of fun." She laughed loudly and I smiled at her. I had always liked Mercedes but I didn't want to tell her how I had actually spent the summer.

It was a Monday, just around noon, the beginning of the third week of break. Coach Sue let us out of practice for an hour for lunch and I decided to save $10 and just go home and eat. On my way through the front door, out of habit, I checked the mailbox and as I shuffled through the various junk and bills, I came across a letter with _Lucy Fabray _neatly penned in the recipient line. I didn't recognize the handwriting but just seeing that it was addressed as my real first name made my stomach immediately fill with bile. I hurried inside and into the kitchen, where I nervously took a seat at the small table. As I opened the letter, I suddenly realized that there was only one person who it could be from. I briefly considered ripping the letter into as many pieces as humanly possible but my curiosity bested my rage and I continued on. Delicately, I pulled the single piece of stationary out of the envelop and unfolded it. My hands had never moved so slowly and so deliberately in my entire life. I took one large breath and read what was bound to be the worst letter of my life.

_Hey kiddo!_

_Congratulations on graduating! I'm sorry I couldn't make it out there for the ceremony. I hope this helps to make up for that. Call me soon so we can catch up!_

_Love you,_

_Dad_

Well, I wasn't wrong.

I sat, completely immobile, for fifteen minutes before my brain came up with any thoughts. When they finally did come, they came slow and started simple

_He doesn't know how old I am anymore. _

Maybe he was just confused. Probably confused.

_He didn't even give me his phone number._

Simple mistake.

_He did, however, enclose a gracious check of $100._

Okay, dickish...but it's the thought that counts, right?

Right?

And that's when I finally broke.

It'd had been exactly three years since the last time we had any sort of contact and all that he could muster up was 4 sentences and $100. No apology. No remorse. Not even an explanation. He just pretended that everything was okay. Then I realized I had spent the last three years doing the exact same thing.

I ignored all of my old problems while I created new ones, all the while ignoring those ones too. I pretended that I never felt betrayed and abandoned by my own father, that his departure meant nothing to me. I pretended that I didn't want to cry every time I remembered mid-insult that I was making someone feel the way I felt in Belleville. And every time I told myself that it was so much easier to feel empty than to feel pain, I pretended that I didn't feel like I was dying.

That's the thing about emotions, though. No one ever tells you that emotions are there for a reason, to tell that you were alive, that you're human. They only ever talk about how much easier life is when you ignore them, when you pretend.

Well, that moment made me understand that they're wrong. The whole fucking lot of them. They're emotionless and they're dead and the sad part is that they don't even know it.

So, for the first time in 3 years, I allowed myself to feel. And let me just say, it was nothing short of a shit show. A beautiful, fucked up, raging, screaming, crying, all out, over the top shit show. I felt every emotion that I had missed over the past few years and I felt them all at once. They hit me like a fucking tsunami. And yet, as I sat there, drowning in the wave, I had never felt more alive.

I skipped the rest of practice, polished off two bottles of wine, and spent the rest of my afternoon working on my response.

_Russell,_

_Thanks for the check but it didn't stay aflame as long as I had hoped. Also, I'm only 17. Nice try though. Tell whatever slut you're with now that I say hi!_

_Go fuck yourself,_

_Q_

My mom found me when she got home from work at 6:30 passed out in the front yard, make-up smeared, sun-burnt, with one shoe on and a letter clutched in each hand. She jumped out of her car, her screaming voice awakening me from my drunken slumber.

"LUCY QUINN FABRAY, WHAT IN GOD'S NAME ARE YOU DOING?" I slowly stirred and took notice of the kickdrum working away at the inside of my temple. I remained silent as she stormed up to me, still yelling. "What the hell is going on here?" She scanned across the yard, looking for any signs of damage and when I saw her eyes flicker to the roof, I knew hell was about to break loose.

"IS THAT A BROKEN BOTTLE OF WINE ON THE ROOF? Quinn, what in FUCK has gotten over you?" I could practically see the smoke billowing from her ears. Again I said nothing, except this time I stuck a hand out, arm swaying clumsily in the air, and tried to hand her one of the letters I was clutching. She looked between my hand and my face with a livid curiosity before snatching the paper out of my grip. I saw her read over the short note several times, her face losing more and more of its signs of anger with every second. She let out a sigh and looked down into my glazed-over eyes.

"Baby," she whispered. I smiled at her meekly and my eyes began to well with tears. She sat next to me in the grass as I choked on a sob. "C'mere." When she opened her arms, I crawled into her lap and she held me while I cried.

When I finally calmed down, I decided to tell her about the other letter that I still held tightly in my hand. "I wrote him back." My ear was pressed heavily into her chest and my voice sounded muffled against her steady, calm heartbeat.

"What does it say?" She said quietly as she stroked the top of my head.

"It says..." I paused, reminded of the colorful vocabulary laced throughout the short letter. "I told him to go fuck himself."

"That's my girl." I let out a small, sombre laugh. "Do you want to send it to him?" I nodded. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Okay." Her palm tapped me on the lower back, urging me to stand. I rose to my feet and held a hand out to help her up. "No, I'll get up myself. I don't know if I quite trust you with my weight in your condition." I laughed again and she found her footing in the grass.

We drove to the post office, a silent ride. I stood in front of the mailbox for 10 minutes before I finally found the courage to drop the envelop in. The ride back home was silent too, save one exchange.

"I accidentally lit the kitchen table on fire." I looked over at my mom, scared that she was going to start screaming again. After all, finding out your drunk 17 year old daughter is also a mild arsonist is enough to push even a saint over the edge.

She shrugged. "It was ugly anyways." Her eyes never went off of the road.

After that day, I spent every waking moment outside of Cheerios trying to put myself back together. I listened to every record I owned, thought of every person I had ever hurt, and vowed to try my hardest to make myself into someone that I could finally be proud of.

And now, here I was. Sitting in the choir room with a smile on my face, lying to the only people who I could have ever considered genuine friends. Acting like I didn't have a summer full of self discovery and deep personal revelations. I felt a little guilty but I figured if I stormed into the room, ranting and raving about how great I was all of a sudden, people would be a little hesitant to take me seriously. Instead, I decided that I would slowly but surely earn their respect and their trust back.

Mercedes turned away from me and towards a quiet Tina. "Tina, what'd you do this summer?"

"Well, I-"

In that moment, a vest-clad Mr. Shuester walked in (5 minutes late, as per usual) already addressing the club before he even made it all the way through the door. "Welcome back, everybody! I hope you all had a great summer but it's time to get back into the swing of things! Now, this year I decided to start things off with your guys' favorite: duets! And this year's theme is going to be the classics! You all know the drill by now, fate chooses your partner so one at a time come up and pull a name." He gestured to the hat he had set down on the piano when he entered the room. "You and your partner can perform any day of your choosing from tomorrow until Thursday and the winners will be announced on Friday! And the best duet, as always, wins a dinner on me at Breadstix. Alright, let's get started! Rachel, as our team captain, would you like to go first?" He finished with an overly enthusiastic clap of his hands and that creepy maniacal laugh he always does when he gets too intense.

"I would love to, Mr, Shue!" Rachel said excitedly as she practically jumped out of her chair and started heading towards the piano in the center of the room. I noticed that her hands were balled into fists and clenched at her side.

Everyone in the room knew that she was praying to pull Finn. Last year, she _had_ pulled Finn and, much to everyone's displeasure, they ended up winning the competition, but only by one vote. Santana swore up and down that "man-hands" probably rigged the competition by slipping in an extra ballot but Mr. Shuester counted the votes 4 times and the numbers came up even every time. I never told any of the club that it was actually me who voted for them. It was none of their business. And anyways, it was a competition and they did the best...so why wouldn't I vote for them?

Rachel arrived at the piano, reached her hand into the hat and pulled out a single slip. She turned to face us before opening up the folded piece of paper. She had the biggest, most nervous smile on her face. Her smile slowly faded. I assumed it was out of concentration. ..trying to read the chicken scratch Mr. Shue called handwriting. But when she looked up, her eyes met mine and her face read panic. Then she said it.

"Quinn Fabray."

Shit.

Her arms fell dramatically to her side and she walked, almost defeated, back to her seat next to Finn. She shoved the piece of paper into the pocket of her pleated skirt and plopped into her chair. I stared at the back of her head as Finn put his arm around her shoulders and leaned in to whisper into her ear. Of course, he's such a fucking moron that he didn't realize he was whispering loud enough for me to hear.

"Now this gives the rest of the club a fair chance." She gave a small nod of her head. "Besides, she can't do anything mean to you. I'm pretty sure you'd notice pigs blood hanging from the ceiling and everyone knows how serious you take your veganism so she's not going to Carrie you. Plus, she can't pants you because you always wear skirts. Don't even worry about her."

Worry? About _me_? He's the one she should be worried about. Coach Sylvester always said stupid is contagious and if that's true, he could start a damn pandemic. The last thing I would want is for Rachel to come down with a bad case of Finncompetence.

Rachel turned and faced him and mouthed quietly "Don't be rude, Finn."

My jaw dropped and I stared in disbelief as her words washed over me. Then after a few moments, full realization hit.

Rachel Berry just stood up for me. The girl who once drew crude (and grossly exaggerated) pictures of her on bathroom stalls. Who called her Ru-Paul. Who threatened to get her deported to freaking Israel.

Me.

Quinn Fabray.

She stood up for me.

xxxx

When Mr. Shue dismissed us an hour later, Finn's arm was still around the back of Rachel's chair and an unexplainable pang of anger rang through me when his lips met her cheek in a rushed goodbye. I watched her as she stood up slowly and smoothed down her skirt. Every one of her movements seemed more graceful than the last.

After a few moments I stood from my chair and walked towards her. Regardless of what she said to Finn, I still saw how she reacted when she pulled my name. The two actions told two very different stories and I was apprehensive to approach her too quickly. I stood silently next to her for a few moments, attempting to prepare myself for the impending conversation.

"Uh, hi," I finally said in an almost shy whisper. Rachel jumped and spun around to face me, her eyes filled with a familiar panic. They looked the same whenever she realized she was about to get slushied. "Relax, I'm not going to hit you."

"Oh, uhm. It's not that. I'm not afraid of you." The words seemed to fall out of her mouth. They were rushed, like she hadn't really thought about what she was saying before she had said it. I was pretty sure that was the only time that had ever happened. "No, sorry. That came out wrong. What I meant to say was that I don't think you're going to hit me. I just didn't see you standing there. That's what I meant." Her head fell and she shook it slowly, seemingly embarrassed.

I let out a small laugh at how obviously nervous she was talking to me. I almost found it charming...but then I remembered exactly why she was so jittery around me and then my endearment turned into shame. "Don't worry about it." There was a brief, awkward pause as we both took a sudden and extreme interest in our feet. "I guess we should talk about this assignment, huh?" Rachel looked up at me over her insanely long eyelashes and nodded her head shyly. I wasn't entirely sure, but I thought my heart did something like a flutter upon seeing how deeply brown her eyes were. "Well, I know you're probably not very excited about working with me so I figured you'd want to get this over with as soon as possible. Maybe we could throw something together tonight and perform tomorrow or something."

She shook her head. "Oh no. That won't work. I need at least two days practice. We don't have to work together both days, but I would feel much more comfortable if we went on Wednesday, at the earliest."

"Okay, that's fine with me. Did you want to practice together tonight then? I get out of Cheerios at around 5:30, 6:00 at the latest. And my mom won't be home until late tonight so we can practice at my house, if that's alright with you...?" I let my words trail off, scared of what her answer might be.

"_No thanks. I'd rather not have you lock me in your basement...which I can only assume is some sort of sadistic torture chamber."_

"_Thanks for inviting me over, Satan. I didn't know that they allow house guests in hell."_

"Yeah, that sounds good." Oh. Much better than I had expected.

"Okay, great." I ripped out a piece of paper from one of the notebooks I was carrying, quickly wrote my number on it, and handed it to Rachel. "Here's my number, text me when you're on the way and I'll give you my address. I, uh...I guess I'll see you later then." With a tiny smile and a hip-level wave, I was off.

It wasn't until I was halfway down the hallway that it hit me and when it did, I stopped dead in my tracks.

My heart fluttered when I looked into Rachel Berry's eyes.

Shit.


	3. Chapter 2: Things We Said Today

an: Wow, I seriously had no idea this story would reach a single person, let alone the number it actually has, so thank you so much for the positive feedback! You guys made my life! And as noted before, any comments, suggestions, or criticism are greatly appreciated. If you have any questions or want to voice something to me more directly, my tumblr username is wholemottalovin. Thanks again!

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Chapter 2: Things We Said Today

I spent all of Cheeios practice in a daze, my thoughts alternating between _Rachel just has pretty eyes, one little flutter doesn't mean anything_ and _Oh shit. Oh fucking shit. _By the time 5:30 rolled around and practice had ended, I had practically thought myself into exhaustion.

Despite my mental fatigue, I managed to rush out of the locker room and walk as fast as I could across the parking lot towards my car. I climbed into the drivers seat, completely oblivious to the hot leather burning the bottom of my thighs, and started the engine. The radio, which I had left on when I shut the car off this morning, began playing quietly. I cranked the volume as high as it would go and when I was confident that not a sound besides my music could be heard from outside of the car, I screamed as loudly and as long as humanly possible.

What in the _hell _was happening? This all was so wrong. So so so wrong. Well, thinking girls are pretty, that wasn't wrong. Girls _are_ pretty. That's what the word means. Men are handsome and women are pretty...but thinking anything about _Rachel Berry _was pretty, well that was one big fucking dose of irony.

And tonight! What the hell was going to happen _then_? Rachel was going to be over at my house in less than an hour and I just spent all of practice thinking about how pretty her eyes were. How fucking selfish was I? This girl, this poor girl, is not only being forced to work with someone who treated her like shit for two years but is forced to be doing it at _their house_. She has to be terrified. She has to be freaking out that I'm going to make this all into some elaborate attempt to humiliate her once again. And then here I was, thinking about how cute she looked in her skirt today.

Oh shit. I wasn't thinking that. I wasn't thinking that.

Oh my God, I thought it.

In a fit of exasperation, I gripped the steering wheel tightly and banged my head against it...and like a rotten cherry on top of the shittiest cake, I now had a giant goose egg on my forehead.

_What is going on with me?_

Suddenly, my phone, which I had apparently thrown into the cup holder during my stupor, alerted me of a new text. I picked it up and looked the alert, an unknown number displayed across the screen. I opened the text and read over it quickly.

**Hey Quinn, it's Rachel. Are we still on for tonight?**

And when I read her name, it happened again. I considered replying no so I could go home and fall back into my old routine of ignoring confusing feelings but I knew that competition meant a lot to her so I decided against skipping out on practice.

_**Yeah of course. I just got out of Cheerios and I'm all disgusting so I need to take a shower but I'll send you my address when I'm done, okay?**_

I must have typed four different versions of the same text. I didn't know why I was so damn nervous. It was Rachel Berry for crying out loud. She wore a freaking pant suit to school sophomore year. I had nothing to worry about.

Wait, now what was I _doing_? I worked all summer to try and better myself and I couldn't even last one day without somehow, outwardly or no, tearing someone down. It's not like I thought this transition would be simple but I guess I just never understood how easy it was to fall back into old habits.

And here comes the shame that I can consider being a total bitch an "old habit."

I sighed and slammed my head against the steering wheel again.

_Ding. _The same unknown number. The same unknown pain in my chest.

God damn it.

God fucking damn it.

**Sounds good. See you soon.**

xxxx

The doorbell rang an hour later and I sprinted up the steps from the basement. I ran through the kitchen and down the hall, straight up to the front door. I let my hand linger on the doorknob for a few seconds in nervous preparation. After what seemed like the most nerve wracking moments of my life, I forced myself to turn the knob and slowly pull the door open.

What I found on the other side was expected, but my reaction wasn't.

Rachel.

_Thump._

"H-hi," I stuttered out. I couldn't even begin to believe what was going on. Freakin' Berry was standing at my front door in an adorable cardigan and my heart _thumped._

No. Her cardigan wasn't adorable or cute or pretty or anything. It was a sweater with buttons and she was just Rachel.

...and my heart was just a little overworked from my sprint up here.

"Hey," she finally said after what felt like an eternity. Well, maybe it was only a few seconds but everything feels so much longer when you're trapped in your own mind.

"Uh, c'mon in." I opened the door wider and stepped off to the side to give her enough room to pass through. She gave a meek smile and as she walked past me, I caught a whiff of her coconut shampoo...and reminded myself to condition a little harder at Cheerios because my heart still hadn't really recovered from that flight of stairs.

I closed the door behind her and watched as she glanced at the various pictures hanging on the walls. I suddenly became very thankful that I remembered to take down my 5th grade school picture when I got home. I don't know how many copies my mom has of that damn picture but I swear to God, I've destroyed at least 15 of them.

Looking at that picture was like my anti-Dorian Gray. Beyond the braces and prepubescent fat, I saw innocence and a clear conscience. And yet every time I looked in the mirror now, I didn't see the head cheerleader with an impressive amount of facial symmetry, I saw Quinn the Tormentor, the Damaged, the Vagabond on the Road to Recovery.

Well, I may be a vagrant but at least I'm on it, right?

"Your house is really cute, Quinn. I can definitely tell your mom decorated it." Her comment snapped me out of my thoughts, which in that moment was not only an impressive feat, but one that came with an immense feeling of gratitude on my part.

"Thank you. Well, I guess I can't really say that, but I'll make sure I tell her that you like it."

"Okay, good. Did your dad have, like, any input? I know our whole family dynamic would be tested if one of my fathers had more control over the interior design of our house."

"No, he uh...he doesn't have any say."

"Yeah, I guess most straight dads don't really have the same problems that mine do." She let out a small laugh at her comment and I forced one out too.

_No, they're much worse._

She finally took her eyes off of all of the pictures and home decor and turned to face me, still standing in front of the door.

Her eyes scanned over my body and I had to resist the urge to fold my arms across my chest. Whenever anyone else did that it was a fellow cheerleader in an act of silent judgment or some completely disrespectful and perverted skeeze-ball. But the way she was looking at me was different, new, so I let her continue.

She raised a curious eyebrow as she took in my outfit (which just so happened to be calf high polka dot socks, a grimy old pair of running shorts, and a battered Led Zeppelin t-shirt...not my best ensemble but in my defense, it _was _my house). Then suddenly, and definitely unexpectedly, her mouth turned into a small grin.

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen you in anything besides glee costumes, Cheerios skirts, or baby doll dresses"

I laughed. She was probably right. "Verdict?"

Her face scrunched in concentration as she looked me over again. Finally, she nodded and said, "It's a nice change of pace. Although I do think the shorts could be a bit dirtier...but that's just my personal preference."

"Now, I know you're joking because I don't think _I've_ ever seen _you_ come within 10 feet of anything that could be considered even remotely dirty."

"That's not true!"

"I've seen you pull a disinfecting wipe out of your backpack and clean a whole desk before."

"Only during flu season!"

"I don't think they consider late May flu season. Also, sophomore year you refused to play sand volleyball. You claimed you were 'sick' but I know for a fact you weren't because you sang in glee that day and you would never perform unless you were 100% capable...well, if you don't count the _The __Climb _then you wouldn't_._"

She paused for a moment, looking almost shocked. "Wow, Quinn. I didn't know you kept such close tabs on me."

"I don't. I'm just...I'm observant, that's all." Right then, like my own personal savior, my dog trotted into the room and right up to Rachel, completely tearing her attention away from what could only seem to be my borderline stalking. I told myself to thank him later somehow.

"Oh my God! Who is this?" She squatted down to his eye level and, like the attention-junkie that he is, he immediately shoved his head into her stomach.

"That's my guard dog, and a lousy one at that seeing as he's just now finding it appropriate to respond to someone at the door." Her smile was so big and sweet that I couldn't help but smile too.

"Oh you're not lousy, are you?" She was whispering to him in the tone of voice that people only reserve for animals and he was burrowed into her so hard it looked like she was about to fall over. They had just met and already I could tell that they were a match made in heaven. "What's his name?"

"It's Chewie." She stopped petting him and looked up with me, her smile now replaced with a confused curiosity. People always reacted that way, though. They act like it's so outrageous for me to like _Star Wars. _What, because I'm a cheerleader I can't have good taste?

And everyone thinks _I'm_ the shallow one

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"...Chewie."

"Like...like Chewbacca?"

"...yeah." Her confused expression broke and she looked almost happy to figure out that he was, indeed, named after the greatest wookiee sidekick of all time.

"Well, it's fitting. He _is _really cute and furry...and huge. As a matter of fact, are you sure this isn't a horse?" I laughed again. That was typically people's _initial_ response...but then again, Rachel Berry has never been one for the typical.

"No. He's a Great Dane/ Newfoundland mix. He's only a year so he's got a little bit of growing left to do, dontcha buddy?" He peaked his head out of the depths of Rachel and gave me a look that, when translated from dog into human, probably meant something along the lines of _Leave me alone, I'm __trying to get my mack on._

Me too, boy. Me too.

…

Shit.

"So, uh, are you ready to get started?" I needed to distract myself from the feeling I kept getting looking at her and I assumed the best way to do that was to listen to her boss me around.

"Yeah, of course." She stood up and brushed off the surprising amount of dog hair that had accumulated on her skirt. Chewie, looking somewhat defeated, scampered off to do whatever it is that dogs do when they're alone. Lick themselves, probably.

"Alright. Well, my room is this way." I led us out of the hallway and into the kitchen. Rachel stood in the doorway as I walked to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water from inside. She watched me as I opened the bottle and took a few steps towards her. She looked almost offended that I was impolite enough to not offer her, a house guest, any sort of commodities or refreshments.

"Here you go." I closed the lid loosely and handed her the bottle. "Most people are too shy to actually say yes when you offer them something to eat or drink. I figured your throat is gonna dry out from all the singing so I might as well give you something now so you don't have to pretend you're not thirsty later."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Thank you." She paused for a moment and began nervously picking at the paper label. "...but you know, you didn't have to open it for me."

"Well, I figure the only thing worse than pretending you're not thirsty is having water and not being able to drink it." I tried to smile politely but she just looked confused again. "I see Finn helping you open bottles all the time...because I'm _observant_." I rose my hand like some sort of oath to my attentiveness, as if that was proper testament for convincing her that I'm not a huge creep.

"Right...okay." We stood in awkward silence for a few minutes, both of us looking everywhere but at each other.

"Well, my bedroom is in the basement so the door is right over here." I pointed at an open door a few feet away before walking over to it. Rachel, looking somewhat panic stricken, remained in the doorway.

Initially, it took me aback to see her just standing there, completely untrusting. I mean, I understood if she was scared to be over here, but I didn't understand why she was deciding to show it now. Did she think that I had a bunch of my jerk- I'm sorry, jock- friends park a few blocks away then hide downstairs and wait for her to come down so they could pop out and scream _Gotcha! Quinn's actually going to be a huge bitch for the rest of this practice!_

"Don't worry, I'm not a serial killer. It's a finished basement, not a torture chamber." Now she was the one looking taken aback and I immediately knew that I had officially discovered the worst possible thing to say in this situation. _Get it together, Fabray._ "...although it does get absolutely freezing in the winter. And you know, I did hear that the Soviets are now locking spies in basements without any blankets or socks as some cruel new torture technique." This time, she smiled. _Nice save._

She walked towards the door and followed me down the stairs and into my room. The steps led directly into a space that was meant to be a small kitchen and dining area. Instead, I used it as my little in-home studio, if you will. There was an old, beat up fridge that I used as a humidor and a short counter that was covered in dried clay. Directly to the left, where the table was intended to go, was my potter's wheel with a short stool next to it, an easel holding a blank canvas, and dozens of finished paintings both stacked on the floor and leaned against the wall.

"Holy shit, Quinn. I didn't know you were into art," Rachel said, completely shocked.

I let out a small laugh before saying playfully, "And I didn't know you swore."

She finally turned away from my art corner and stepped out into the rest of my room. Next to my easel, there was a small living area with a plasma TV hanging from the wall, the most comfortable leather couch in the world, and a large bookshelf overflowing with my collection on DVDs.

Shoved into a corner across the room was a king-sized covered with a black comforter. Above the right side of the bed was a small window, just large enough to fit a person through (which is something I obviously figured out through experimentation). At the foot of the bed were several plastic egg crates filled with records, five stacks of CDs, each around two feet high, and a record player.

I took a seat on the steps and watched as Rachel slowly worked her way around the room. I couldn't help but smile at her as she walked up to nearly every focal point of the room, examining them all closely as if she was attempting to discover their actual physical realness. I didn't know if she thought my DVDs would disappear when she leaned over and drug her finger delicately across them, but it was still a cute gesture.

Her response to my room wasn't one that I had never seen before. Everyone that I had ever let down here had acted very similarly. Granted, the number of people I had let down here was probably less than five but they all responded the same nonetheless, and I found it funny every single time. I knew that people expected me to live in some huge mansion with a wrap-around staircase and two dining rooms. They expected me to have a pink room and sleep on a bed that looked like it was made for a Disney princess. I was happy I didn't have those things though. Well, at least not anymore.

When I lived in Belleville, my house looked like something out of _Better Homes and Gardens_. My parents, or more so my father, wanted to give the appearance of grandeur just so he could impress his snobbish family and arrogant, misogynistic golfing buddies, so we lived in upper middle class extravagance. However, I quickly realized that that type of need for acceptance through material goods was what weak personalities were made of. I didn't know a thing about my father anymore but I could have almost guaranteed that he was the most insecure man alive, and I pitied him for it.

I found my mom to be a completely different story though. Ever since their divorce, she had changed dramatically. She became so carefree and gentle. She was curious but respectful, unconditionally accepting of others, and much to my surprise, had a pretty raunchy sense of humor. I really respected her for deciding to move us away from our old home and into a new, happier life. Maybe I wasn't completely happy here in Lima, but at least I had an environment that I could feel truly comfortable in and I thanked my mom, although not directly, every single day for that.

"So are you ready to get started?" I questioned politely after I felt like Rachel had had enough time to take in the room.

"Huh?" I seemed to have snapped her back to reality mid-thought. "Oh, right. Yeah, let's go."

"Okay well we can try to find something in my record collection. They're all vintage so any one of them will fit Shuester's assignment." I stood up and walked over to the crates. Rachel soon followed and we both took a seat on the floor. "I don't know what you're familiar with so maybe you can pick out a few albums or artists that you like or have heard of and then from there, we can decide on a song together." Rachel silently nodded.

I watched her as she scooted across the floor so she could sit directly in front of the stacks of records. She attentively riffled through a few of them but after a moment, her eyes lost focus and she seemed to have fallen back into whatever thoughts she was having before I interrupted.

I wanted to know what she was thinking. I wanted to know if _she_ had ever let any thoughts slip about _me. _I wanted to know everything about her, everything that made her smile and laugh...

"Quinn, why are you being so nice to me?" She said it without even taking her eyes off of the records.

My face went blank. I was completely shocked by her bluntness...by the obvious polarization of our thoughts. "Uhh...what?" Not exactly eloquent, but it was all I could manage to get out.

"Why are you being so nice to me? Don't get me wrong, I'm thankful for it, but how do you do it? How do you just flip a switch? You know, go from who you are at school to who you are right now...a person who seems really sweet and really interesting."

_Sweet and interesting..._Maybe our thoughts weren't so different,

"I'm not the devil that you think I am. Actually, I'm pretty nice." I couldn't help but say it with a smirk. I don't know why I thought that was an appropriate response to her question. I don't know why I kept stumbling every time I was given an opportunity to comfort her, to prove to her that I'm not who I used to be.

I heard her scoff at my comment. "No, seriously. I just...I don't know, I'm curious as to how you can do that."

"This is my home, Rachel. This isn't a place where I need to keep up some identity. I'm being nice to you because I want to be, because that's who I really am." She whipped her head around and was already replying before I even had a chance to reprimand _myself._

"Well that's not fair. You've made my life a living hell, Quinn, so you don't get to call bullying me 'keeping up an identity.' You don't get to just invite me over, act all nonchalant, and then seem surprised when I wonder why you're not calling me 'manhands' every five minutes. I'm not going to forget that you treated me like shit for 3 years just because _you're_ in the comfort of _your_ home. I'm not going to buy into that at all because I know tomorrow, the moment we step back into that school, you're going to keep sending me dirty glances and you're going to pretend like this never happened. You'll go back to your 'identity' and I'm going to go back to having to suffer through it." Halfway through her release, so to speak, her eyes dropped to the ground. She refused to make eye contact with me, with the one person who had ever made her feel insecure. Her tone was cold and carried with it a layer of torment. I had never heard her speak like that before.

The room fell silent as the shock of her comments rang through me. I immediately thought of Lucy, of the names that everyone called me, of how alone I was and how much I hurt. I saw exactly as I had felt written across Rachel's face. I did regret how I had treated her, but in that moment, the feeling of empathy became overwhelming and my heart felt like it had shattered. I wanted to pull her into my lap. I wanted to hold her and tell her how sorry I was for making her ever feel like she wasn't worthy, like she was anything less than perfect. I wanted to not stop speaking until she knew_ just_ how much she meant to the world...how much she meant to me.

I wasn't sure what was coming over me, but I knew I needed to say something productive, something that would help make things maybe not right between us, but better. I had to or else I was going to do something stupid, something that every inch of me was aching to do. So I immediately began rambling off the first thing that popped into my mind.

"I'm a prodigy of Sue Sylvester. She's taught me a lot of things over the past 3 years, including how to leave the country without a passport and what to do if I ever find myself as a contestant on Survivor. She's won three times, did you know that? It was the Swedish version, but still...very impressive. Anyways, if I could only take one lesson away from her teachings, I know what she'd want it to be: 'Never throw away an opportunity to bring the shame of failure unto your opponents.' I know we're technically on the same team as them, but that doesn't mean that I don't want to destroy the rest of the glee club. And if anyone is going to deliver the gut-wrenching agony of defeat upon everyone else, it's going to be you and I. Basically, what we're going to do is smack the rest of the club down like the hand of God." I glanced over at her. She was still looking at the ground, but now she looked extremely confused and a little scared...and then I realized, once again, that I was being absolutely ridiculous.

"Okay, wow. I'm really sorry about that. I've been spending a lot of time around Coach Sue lately and I think it's starting to have some serious consequences on my competitiveness." I shook my head in an act of self-deprecation and gave myself a moment to gather a few thoughts that actually made some sense. "What I'm actually trying to get at here is that I don't want to be mean to you or make you feel uncomfortable because I'm really lucky to be able to work alongside you...it just took a while for me to see it as the opportunity that it is. Rachel, you're an _amazing _singer and if we do kick everyone's ass, which we will...with a healthy mentality about competition, it's going to be because of you."

Her eyes snapped up and when they met mine, I felt the same damn flutter. "Did you...did you just complement me?"

"What it's true?" I said with a shrug. "No one is going to deny that you have the best voice in glee. Hell, you've got the best voice in _at least _all of Western Ohio...and I'm only limiting it to there because I haven't seen many show choirs and I like to speak with certainty." I could see that she had a microscopic smile. It was barely noticeable but I took it as a good sign and decided to keep going. "Listen, Rachel, I'm not just acting like this solely because I want to win. Honestly, that wouldn't be any better than me being mean. I'm acting this way because I regret how I've treated you over the years. I finally understand that I've hurt you in many ways and I'm not proud of that...but I'm not going to stand here right now and beg for your forgiveness either. That's not right and I don't deserve it, not yet. But I do want you to know that I want to deserve it. I want to earn it from you, all that I ask is that you give me the chance. And I know my word means shit to you, as it should, but I really hope you can at least believe me when I promise you that tomorrow I won't be any different than how I am right now."

The room went silent again but this time the silence was different. It didn't feel grim or somber. It was more contemplative. It was as if we both realized and were respecting the others need for some sort of peaceful reflection.

After a few minutes, Rachel broke the silence. "I don't hate you, you know." She said it quietly, like she didn't want to disrupt the calm we had created.

I was shocked, to say the least. She had every right to hate me. I would have hated me if I was her. I kind of _did _hate me for what I did to her. "Why not? I've been awful to you."

"That was before I realized that you know what it feels like to be me. Sure, you're the most popular girl in school, but you're an outsider, Quinn. You push people away with this...this 'identity' that you've created and it probably started out so you could protect yourself in some way, so it could prevent you from getting hurt, but now you're all alone and you hurt more than ever. I'm not trying to act like I know anything about your life, or you either for that matter, bur I can tell that you're lonely...I can see it in your eyes. All that I'm saying is maybe you don't have to be alone anymore. Maybe neither of us do..."

For the first time in my life, I felt as if someone was trying to reach out to me, as if someone beyond what family I did have cared about me...and out of all of the people in this world, it was Rachel Berry. Part of me wanted to laugh at the irony but that part was definitely overpowered by the feeling of an eruption happening in my chest. Maybe it wasn't an eruption. Was it even _in_ my chest? I couldn't describe it if I tried but I knew that I had never experienced anything quite like it ever before. My thoughts were jumbled, my mind was mush. The only thing I could manage to establish was that I felt like I had been sitting in a dark room for as long as I could remember and now someone had finally flipped the switch, like I had just put on my first pair of glasses only to realize that I had been blind my whole life.

From the open window above my bed, I heard birds chirping. The chorus to a revelation.

And then it hit me.

"Hey, how's _Blackbird _sound? For our duet? Yeah! Gimme a second!" I sprung to my feet and practically ran over to a closed door a few feet away. I opened it and disappeared behind it for a few moments and when I resurfaced, I was carrying my old acoustic guitar. I sat in the same spot I had been in before and positioned the guitar in my lap. When I looked over to Rachel, her mouth was agape.

"You play guitar?" It sounded more disbelieving than inquisitive.

"Oh, God no. But my grandpa, my mom's dad, he did. I don't think there was an instrument he couldn't play. He was a total music junky. That's where all of my records came from, that's why they're vintage. He left his whole collection to me but I just took out all of the ones that I wanted and let my mom have the rest. But anyways, he told me that everyone should know how to play at least one song on the guitar. He taught me _Blackbird _a few years ago, right before he passed away."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Quinn."

"Thanks. I...I really looked up to him. I still do. He was a great man." I was silent for a few moments. I started getting sad, I always did when I thought of him. He was the only positive male figure who had ever been in my life. Well, I guess besides Mr. Shue, but he's an annoying man-child so I don't really count him.

I never stayed sad for very long, though. I know he would be disappointed if he knew that I even did at all. It always seemed to help that my mind always wandered to the memory of him getting drunk on Christmas and accidentally putting his head through the living room wall. He was in the middle of his annual rendition of _Santa Baby _and as he tried to do the accompanying choreography, he somehow managed to trip over his own feet and dive head first into the wall. The next day, he hung a picture over the hole, claiming that he would fix it by the end of the week. When we were removing all of the belongings from his house three years later, my mom took down the very awkwardly positioned picture and found the same hole, not a single piece of plaster out of place from the day it happened. A smile began stretching dangerously far across my face and I had to force myself to not begin laughing out loud.

With a shake of my head, I brought my attention back to our glee club assignment but the huge grin on my face wasn't as easy to shake. "Uhm, sorry about that. But, _Blackbird._ It's pretty simple so I never forgot it. I think it would be a great song for us to do. It's one of the best songs ever written, it's got amazing harmonies, and I think the club is going to shit when they see me playing a guitar. What do you think?"

"I think it sounds perfect." Rachel was smiling, too. I couldn't help but notice that it seemed to grow along with mine, which only caused me to smile that much harder.

"Great, Let's get started then!"

After about our 15th full run through of the song, I decided I needed a bathroom break.

When I walked out of the bathroom and back into my bedroom, I noticed Rachel on her phone. I took the opportunity to look over at the alarm clock on the nightstand next to my bed and check the time.

_Holy shit, it's already 9:15!_

No, wait. I could better.

_Holy shit, I just spent almost 3 hours with Rachel Berry and it was amicable...mostly...and actually really fun._

"Hey, Rachel. I don't know how late you're allowed to stay out but it's 9:15 right now." _She's looking at her phone, dummy, she already knows what time it is. _"Are you going to need to go home soon?"

"Yeah, actually, I think I am." She sounded almost disappointed at the fact...which made me kind of happy in some bizarre way.

"Oh, okay. Well, let me throw on some sweatpants and we can get going." She seemed a little shocked at my suggestion.

"Wait, what?"

"Did you need a ride? Sorry, I probably should have asked first."

"Well, my..." She paused for a moment, almost as if she was trying to prevent herself from saying something. "..._dad _gave me a ride here. I just kind of assumed he'd come pick me up. I'll call him right now."

"No, no, no. Don't bother the man. Let me take you. I actually haven't eaten dinner yet so I was planning on getting food as soon as you left anyways...and since I'm already planning on heading out, I might as well just give you a ride."

"Yeah...yeah, that makes sense."

"Were you hungry too? Because you could come with, if you wanted...my treat even."

"Uhm..." She paused for a moment and I suddenly got nervous. I knew it was late for a school night and I knew it wouldn't be personal if she said no but I kind of just didn't want this night to end...not yet. I wanted to keep talking to her and I wanted to try to make her laugh again because there was just something about her laugh...And a strange little part of me just wanted her to come with so I could figure out something small about her, like what her favorite drink is or if she eats her french fries before her actual meal.

"Yeah, I could eat."

I don't think four words had ever sounded so great.


	4. Chapter 3: Mr Moonlight

an: sorry about the delay on this...finals and moving out of my dorm and such. Anyways and as always, I appreciate your time and your input!

* * *

Chapter 3: Mr. Moonlight

"Really?" I said half shocked, half convinced she wasn't seriously considering sharing a meal with _me_. After all, reason would drive most logical people under our circumstances running for the hills...in opposite directions.

"...yes?" she questioned, as if _she _should be the one who's confused.

"You really want to eat with me?" I had to ask once more, for clarity.

"Yes!" she said through a giggle. "Although there's not going to be very many restaurants open right now- at least not any that aren't going to give us food poisoning- so I think we're going to have to settle with fast food."

"I could do fast food," I said, much softer than I had intended to.

"Okay." Her tone matched mine...dreamy, calm, and after a moment I realized we were staring at each other rather intensely. But as great of an indulgence as I seemed to take in her eyes, there was still a part of me that wanted to rip my gaze away from hers.

Looking at her made me nervous in so many ways because I felt so many different things when I did. There was the vague sense of threat as she was the only person in Lima who had ever challenged me on more than a social level. There was the fear associated with the way my heart would beat for her smile. The shame, the vulnerability...

Her eyes briefly fell to my mouth and she subconsciously licked her lips.

...the sexual tension.

Before I could prevent it, my jaw went slack and my eyes widened. She seemed to catch my outward response to her action because she blinked rapidly and jumped to her feet. "I'm gonna...use the restroom," she said, eyes locked on the area around my feet. She dropped her head and hastily left the room, her eyes remaining on the floor as she rushed passed me.

I stood in front of my nightstand, mouth still agape and mind racing. I wanted to write off whatever had just happened. I wanted to ignore it, forget about it, because I didn't want to drive myself crazy by delving too deeply into what could have just been a simple coincidence. But I couldn't get the image of her tongue raking against her bottom lip out of my mind. It played over and over. Her eyes would fall. Her tongue would dart out. My stomach would clench. Rinse. Repeat.

But I wanted...no, _needed_ to distract myself from these thoughts. I just couldn't be thinking about these things...about her lips. I mean, it hadn't even been 3 full hours since our reconciliation. It was completely inappropriate, and frankly a little insane, that I had even assumed her gesture meant anything more to her than _Hm, my lips are particularly dry at this moment._

God, I wished I could transcend my own body for a moment, becoming a ghostly apparition of my own self driven solely by the purpose of slapping the bodily Quinn back into reality...maybe even into one where I wasn't plagued with thoughts of Rachel Berry.

I forced my eyes closed and began taking deep, steady breathes. I wanted to move every ounce of my attention away from my mind, which had now apparently become an apparatus hellbent on destroying itself, towards my body. I began by inhaling slowly and thinking of my fingertips. I wanted to feel the pressure that the air made on my skin. It only took a second before my skin began to tingle and I worked it up to my wrists, across my elbows, and over my shoulders. The feeling, separated before in my two arms, had now joined in the middle of my chest. I thought it downwards. It skated over my breasts, through my lungs, and stopped abruptly at my stomach.

I needed food.

Food! That was it, the perfect distraction! We hadn't ever actually decided on somewhere to eat. I could just think of places to go. And then it dawned on me: Rachel was a vegan. What do vegans even eat?

I practically lunged for my iPhone that I had tossed on my bed earlier that evening and pulled up the internet browser. My thumbs pattered against the screen as I quickly typed a search into Google:

_Vegan fast food options_

I scanned through the results for roughly 30 seconds before determining that not only were there very few dining options for vegans, but that I never wanted to be one.

"Shit," I breathed out.

"What's wrong?" Her voice startled me and I fumbled my phone between my hands for a moment before whipping around and finding Rachel practically right in front of my face. I tried to the best of my abilities to casually take a step back without looking as if I was retreating from her. My thighs found the back of my bed and, through some sort of divine intervention, I gracefully fell into a sitting position.

"Oh, uh. Well, I remembered that you don't eat meat and I'm not going to lie, I had no clue which places are vegan-friendly or not so I decided to try Google." I tapped the screen pointedly and she looked genuinely impressed that I had remembered that about her. "You're probably already well-aware of this, but our options are very limited."

"You'd be surprised. Taco Bell is actually pretty good about it. We could go there." As she was speaking, she took a seat right next to me on my bed. We weren't touching but I immediately felt her warmth. I could almost sense her softness and it took everything in me not to make some awkward gulping sound right in her face.

"I thought you said you didn't want to get food poisoning."

She laughed and I couldn't stop the smile that nearly instantaneously spread across my face. "It's been much safer ever since Puck stopped working there sophomore year." I could feel myself slowly leaning towards her, pulled by some sort of magnetism radiating off of her skin. The gravitation itself wasn't a feeling that was unwelcome...but it definitely wasn't helping to calm my mind.

"Yeah, you're probably right about that." Again, I noticed that we were staring and smiling a little too strongly for comfort. I don't know how she kept drawing me back into her so quickly but it was scaring me. "Are you ready to go now then?"

She nodded her head. I stood up and at once, yet not too quickly, began heading for the steps. I crossed an arm over my chest and rubbed the exposed skin of the opposite arm, the one that was next to Rachel. I had to get the sensation of her proximity off of my skin. I needed it away, I needed it out of my memory. If I didn't, it would have burrowed its way into me, into my mind, and every person nearing adjacency would have been in competition with her, with her warmth. They would immediately become _Not Rachel Berry._

The sheer thought of that happening nearly sent me into a panic and yet it somehow managed to still not be the most frightening thing happening in my mind. Not knowing what being close to me meant to her, _that's_ what scared me more than anything. This could have all been my mind torturing me, playing tricks on me, saying _We've realized we've sinned, now we must pay._ Now, there was the possibility that this was all contrived, a piece of my imagination. What if I didn't see her lick her lips? What if she saw me, mouth agape, staring at her lick her lips?

"Are you okay?" Her voice, concerned, tore me away from my thoughts and brought me back to a reality in which I was frozen with my foot hovering six inches above the bottom step and a burn singeing the skin of my arm. I looked to the area and found a contrast in skin color, a hand that was no longer mine placed delicately on my forearm. And as I stared, I realized: Her touch burned. There was no going back.

I finally set my foot down on the step and turned my head to find her standing to my left. She looked worried for me, a sentiment that caused my heart to buck along with the heat that was still present on my arm. "Ye-yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," I stammered out. "I just remembered that I have a calc test on Wednesday."

"Already? That's like, the third day of school."

"It's an AP class and they want to test how much we already know...get an idea of the learning curve, I guess."

"Oh. Okay. Well, we don't have to practice tomorrow then. I'm pretty sure we've already got the song nailed anyways. And we can perform on Thursday so you won't have anything else to stress about on Wednesday. Does that sound okay?" Now she was being so charmingly accommodating and it caused my heart to lurch once more.

"Yeah, that sounds perfect." It took so much energy to make myself sound cheery, thankful. But it was worth it. She smiled and gave my arm one light squeeze before finally releasing me.

The burning slowly stopped and I was shocked at the juxtaposition in my empty sense of relief. I didn't understand how I could find such solace in feeling lonely again, but her hand away from my skin managed to provide that. It was like the first chill that courses through your body in a downpour. It was beyond refreshing, but always came with the realization that soon you'd be too cold to feel anything but miserable.

She went up the steps ahead of me, hands folded delicately behind her back. I watched her walk up a few steps before I noticed her left thumb was rather nervously rubbing the palm of the hand that had been resting upon me.

I took the first full breath that I had taken in minutes and followed her up the stairs into my kitchen. When I reached the top, I found her a few feet away with her back to the door and crouched down next to a lazily sprawled out Chewie. She was scratching his side, in between his front and hind legs, and was whispering something I couldn't quite hear. His tail began thumping wildly against the hardwood and she let out a soft laugh. While she continued petting him, I grabbed my keys and wallet out of the purse I had set on the table when I had gotten home from cheerleading.

"Giving a proper riddance, are we?" Her head turned to look at me over her shoulder and she smiled at me so big.

"I couldn't just leave without saying goodbye, he's too cute and sweet for that." She patted him heavily several times before standing up and heading towards the front door. I followed closely behind.

We slipped our shoes on and walked outside. I shut and locked the door behind us while Rachel headed for the passenger side of my SUV that was parked in the drive. Within a few moments, we were both in the car with our seatbelts on. I slowly pulled away from my house and we drove in an awkward silence for several minutes.

"Uh, do you mind if I turn on the radio?" Rachel asked quietly.

"No, of course not."

She reached for the radio and switched it on. The CD I had been listening to earlier began playing quietly and from my peripherals, I saw Rachel cock her head curiously. She listened for a few moments before she questioned, "What is this?"

"It's Erykah Badu," I answered shyly. I mean, I wasn't shy when she riffled through my whole CD collection earlier but knowing what someone owns is a lot different than knowing what they actually listen to. Her knowing what I played in my car was sort of an intimate thing because you can learn a lot about a person by what they listen to when no one else is around. Just like my bedroom, it showed her a side of me that few people had seen before. I wanted to be embarrassed but I was strangely happy to give her that little piece of me.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," she said with a nod of her head. "I never would have pegged you as the soul, R&B type."

"What can I say? I'm a sucker for good music."

"I guess so," she said through a laugh. "You know, you just keep on surprising me tonight."

My grip on the steering wheel tightened and I could feel the heat radiating off of my blushed cheeks. "Th-thanks," I once again stammered. God, I never stuttered. Never!

I sensed her staring at me and my blush so I sped through the last two blocks. "Well, here we are!" I said, more excitedly than necessary. I think she knew that I was overcompensating for something because she gave me a weird look. I scrunched my face and shook my head as an unspoken apology and pulled into the drive through.

After we had placed our order and received our food, I pulled into a parking spot. I looked out through my windshield and at the park that was right next to the...restaurant. It was a beautiful, clear night and I didn't really want my car to smell like refried beans and the crushed dreams of minimum wage workers, so I turned to Rachel.

"Hey, do you wanna eat outside? There's a picnic table right over there we can sit at."

She gave me a huge, toothy smile before saying eagerly, "Absolutely!"

We both got out of the car and headed for the table that was openly placed in the middle of the park. When we arrived, Rachel properly settled into the table and I sat on the top of it, one leg folded under me and my hips perpendicular to her body so I didn't have to turn my head every time I wanted to look at her.

We both quietly ate our meals. After we had finished, I took all of our wrappers to a nearby trashcan and headed back to the table. After I had positioned myself in the same spot as before, Rachel broke our silence.

"Duets are a very personal thing, and from my experience I've always found that they go better when the two performers are comfortable with one another."

"Okay..." I didn't really understand what she was trying to get at and frankly, I was almost scared. She wanted us to be more comfortable with each other so we could win, okay, but this is the same girl who sent someone to a crackhouse and made us take vitamin D sophomore year to win Mr. Shue's battle of the genders...what level of comfort did she think it'd take? Like, defying death and forming an eternal bond level? Was she going to ask me to totem bungee jump with her or something?

"So...do you mind if I ask you some things about yourself? I want to know more about you...you know, for the sake of the competition."

_Oh._

When you put it like that, yes, Rachel Berry, I do mind.

"No, I guess not." She read my face for any signs of noncompliance and I guess I passed her inspection because she let out this weird squeaking noise and clapped her hands together delightedly. I probably would have been embarrassed for anyone else who did that, but I don't know...she looked kind of cute.

"Yes! What's your favorite color?" she asked excitedly.

"Yellow. Yours?"

"Pink! Favorite movie?" I laughed a little before I answered. Seeing her so energetic about asking me such inconsequential questions made me sort of happy to answer them.

"Hm..._Breakfast at Tiffany's_."

"Mine's _Funny Girl_."

"I could have guessed," I said dryly.

"Shush!" she said in mock annoyance. "Okay, what's your earliest memory?"

"My mom crying at my 3rd birthday party. My dad got a clown and didn't tell her. She came downstairs, saw _Funzo _the Terror Inducer standing there and screamed at the top of her lungs. She freaked out so bad that four little kids got upset too and had to go home."

"You can't be serious."

"Dead. He probably knew she was scared of them too."

"Wow, that's terrible!" she exclaimed before pausing for a moment. She shook her head and said, "It's weird, I've never even heard you mention your parents before."

"I don't have two awesomely gay dads, so there's not much to talk about."

"Very funny," she said in the same mock tone from earlier. "What do they do?"

"Well, my mom is an editor for Standard Publishing. It's a Christian publisher, but don't worry, she's not some crazy religious zealot. She's actually really cool. But she had to work in Cincinnati today so that's why she wasn't home. And my dad...I'm not really sure."

"You don't know?" she asked, slightly shocked.

"No. We don't really talk." She looked confused so I stopped speaking for a moment and took a deep breath, attempting to garner enough courage to finish what I wanted to say. "My parents, they're not together. My dad...he uh, he left. When I was 13."

"Oh, Quinn, I'm so sorry. I didn't know that. I wouldn't have asked if I had known. God, I'm so nosy. I should have known this was a stupid idea. Please don't be mad at me. I just wanted to get to know you better since we're working together and-"

"No, Rachel. Stop it. It's okay, really. I-I liked your questions." I said timidly. "Besides, there's no reason for you to have known that. I've never really told anyone before, so..."

"No one?" I shook my head and she rose a curious eyebrow. "Why'd you decide to tell me?"

"I don't know," I mumbled under my breath. I did know, but I didn't think she would believe me if I told her. The truth was that I trusted her. She just had this quality about her that made it so effortless to put your faith in her. Even when I hated her, I still recognized that she was undoubtedly one of the most compassionate and empathetic people I had ever met. Then, though, my recognition manifested itself through an extreme jealousy. Now, I had never been more thankful to have someone that I knew I could confide in if I wanted to.

"You've been through a lot, haven't you?" She questioned softly.

"Not as much as I've put people through," I said with a disparaging laugh. She looked at me with concerned eyes and all of a sudden I didn't really feel like laughing anymore.

"Don't do that," she said sternly.

"Do what?"

"Belittle your own problems."

"Why not?" I shrugged. "I don't really deserve to have the same feelings as everyone else, not after everything I've done."

"Yes you do. You can't shut yourself off like that, undermine your own hardships because you feel guilty."

"How can I not feel guilty though?" I snapped. "Rachel, I've hurt so many people and what makes it so much worse is that I knew what I was doing. I knew how much that kind of behavior affects people and I still did it. How can I not feel guilty for that? How can I not be ashamed of myself? I mean, Jesus! I can't even look at you half the time without feeling like I want to puke."

"I'm not going to deny that what you did was wrong...but that was then and you can't change that. What really matters is that you're trying to be a different person." Her eyes flickered between mine and she had an expression on her face that I couldn't quite read. " You're trying, right?"

I nodded my head.

"Then you shouldn't feel guilty. Not anymore."

"Easier said than done," I huffed out.

"Yeah, you're right...but I think you really do deserve better than what you allow yourself."

I furrowed my brows and confusedly stared at her for a moment. "I don't get you, Rachel Berry."

"What do you mean you don't get me?" she asked.

"I mean, I was terrible to you. You said it yourself, I made your life a hell and yet you still don't hate me...and now you're sitting here saying I deserve something better. It's confusing, that's all. Admirable, definitely, but confusing."

"I'm the '_eccentric' _only child of two gay men in Western Ohio...so you're not the only person who's ever bullied me, you know. If I went around hating everyone that's ever tried to tear me down in any way, I wouldn't really have time to do much else."

"That makes sense, I guess, but it still doesn't explain why you are like you are."

"And what's that?" She was smiling at me, acting like she didn't know what I meant just so she could force me to have to say something nice about her aloud.

"Understanding, sympathetic...forgiving." She subconsciously batted her eyelashes, probably surprised by how exactly unforced my words were.

After a shy pause, her shoulders shrugged and she began eying the plastic straw that she was absentmindedly playing with. "I guess I just let the experience sculpt me in a different way. Most people under similar circumstances become bitter or jaded or try to lash out in some way...but I don't know, I allow it to make me better. More strong-willed, you know?"

"No, not really," I quietly laughed. "I just don't get how you're not angry, why you don't walk around ripping the head off of anyone who so happens to cross you."

"Well, it wasn't always this easy. Trust me, I used to be angry. I used to come home from school crying every single day. My dads, they would sit me down and talk to me and ask me what was wrong but all that I could ever tell them, all I could ever manage to get out was 'One day, I'm going to be a star and they're all going to be wrong.' I would say it over and over, day after day. Finally one day, my daddy...don't laugh, I have to differentiate them somehow, he said 'Baby girl, you can't keep using your dreams as an attempt to prove your worth to people who don't support you. If you do, they're not your dreams anymore, they're a vendetta.' That moment made me realize that all of my motivation and hard work meant so much more to me than any bullshit resentment I had built up inside. I couldn't let them hijack the only thing that I had ever felt was truly _mine_. So, I focused all of the energy that I had been using to victimize myself into further developing my talents."

I was nodding along with what she was saying, hanging on every word she spoke, all the while under complete comprehension of the fact that that was exactly what she was doing to me. Just this fucking morning, my mind was mine. Maybe it wasn't okay or well-adjusted or innocent, but it was mine. It was only for me. Then she waltz her perfect little ass up to that piano and now here I am, willingly and happily showing her pieces of me that I wouldn't even feel comfortable showing Santana or Brittany. In a little over 7 hours with absolutely no effort, she had, yet again, managed to ruin everything I had attempted to build for myself.

How in the hell did she do it? God, if only I could know _how_, maybe I could stop it. Maybe I could bury it or even pray about it. But I didn't know...and I sure as shit couldn't ask her.

_I know we've only been on amicable speaking terms for 4 hours now, but can you help me to figure out why I'm all of a sudden harboring some sort of girl crush on you? Also, what leg exercises are you doing, because seriously, they're incredible?_

_Why don't we just forget the fact that you have a boyfriend and I used to call you Barbro Streishands and instead talk about how I can't help picturing hugging you from behind every time you cross your arms over your chest?_

_Hey, Rachel? How do you manage to be so cute and adorable and open and sweet and..._

"I've never really told anybody about that either," she said timidly. I looked down at her and she was already staring at me and smiling nervously. I knew it took so much courage for her to be with me right now, to be talking to me and sharing things with me. She was so brave and I was so happy to be witnessing it.

_Goddamn it!_ I was literally _just_ frustrated beyond belief at her...well, not her _per se _but whatever it was about her that was making want to lean over right now and cup her cheeks and kiss the ever loving shit out of her. And with eight words and a stupid smile, all of that frustration was gone and all that was left was me fighting the urge to pull her into me all because I had fucking taco breath.

You know what? Fuck it. I'm Quinn Fabray: Badass head cheerleader. If I wanted something, I was going to get it.

...and I think I wanted Rachel Berry.

I closed my eyes briefly and lulled my head back. When I opened my lids, I noticed exactly how clear the sky was. The whole sky was filled with stars. It was beautiful. Then it dawned on me: I _could_ get what I wanted. And I could do it in a way that she probably wasn't used to: with intelligence. Seduce the mind _then_ the body, right?

I snapped my head down to look at her and almost forcefully asked, "I know gold stars are sort of your thing...do you like astronomy?"

"I, uhm...I've never really thought much about it," she answered, seemingly baffled.

"Well, I kind of have a little obsession with it. Here, stand up." I hopped to the ground and waited for her to untangle herself from the picnic table. "C'mere, follow me." She walked over to me and I lead us deeper into the park and further away from any sources of light.

"Stand in front of me." She looked at me nervously before complying. I positioned myself directly behind her and wiped my recently clammy hand on my shirt before delicately wrapping my fingers around her wrist.

"What are you doing?" She shakily whispered.

"Just point your finger." I lifted our hands and directed her extended index finger towards the sky. I moved our arms until I found the particular constellation I was looking for and I traced it slowly several times while I softly questioned, "It's kind of faint, but do you see that?" She nodded her head and I slowly lowered our arms.

"That's Lyra. It's named after this ancient Greek instrument called the lyre...it's kind of like a harp or a lute." Her head remained craned towards the sky and I still had a hold of her wrist. "Legend has it that Hermes created it as a gift for his half brother, Apollo, who in turn gave it to Orpheus, the musician of the Argonauts. It probably doesn't makes sense that I'm telling you this, but it reminds me of you." I gently let go of her and she turned to face me.

"And why is that?" she asked, eyes locked unto mine.

"Well, it's small," I said jokingly, which caused her to roll her eyes and let out a huff. I laughed for a moment before continuing with a much more serious tone, "That's not the part that reminds me of you though. That's the part that reminds me of Lima. What reminds me of you is that this seemingly insignificant little group of fire balls contains one of the brightest stars in the sky. _That's _you. I think you know that you're special in Lima, but I don't know if you realize that you're special everywhere. I know earlier I limited your talents to just Western Ohio...but I've decided that I was wrong."

"Oh, you just decided that, huh?" she laughed out.

"Yep," I stated confidently. "You are...incredible and you're going to do great things, Rachel Berry. I know it." By that time, my eyes had adjusted to the dark and I saw a blush come across her face. I smiled widely and she turned away from me again.

"Show me again. Which one is me?" she asked in a surprisingly alluring voice. She lifted her head towards the stars again. This time, however, it was slightly tilted and it seemed as if she was almost exposing her neck to me. I gulped heavily and wiped my hands on my shirt again. This was it, this was the moment where I see if my mind is playing tricks on me.

I took a step forward and very lightly pressed myself into her back. When she didn't immediately pull away, I had to force myself to not shutter. I reached my left hand out and let my fingers skate across her wrist and over the back of her hand. My fingertips felt like they were on fire and that feeling spread across my whole palm when I cupped my hand over the top of hers. I pointed again at the constellation.

"It- it's that one, r-right there in the corner," I stuttered and aimed our conjoined hands at it.

"Tell me about it," she whispered and leaned her head slightly back so that my face was forced next to her ear.

"It's called Vega...or-or Falling Eagle. It's uh, it's the 5th brightest observable star...but it's the brightest one for this time of year," I breathed out. "At, um, at one point is was the northern pole star...and it will be again in around 11,000 years. It's only 25 light years away and it was the first star, besides the sun, to be photog-"

Suddenly, her phone began to ring. I dropped our arms and shot away from her as she dug in the pocket of her skirt and pulled out her phone.

"Hello?" she answered.

I ran my fingers through my hair anxiously. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

"No, I'm sorry. No- I know it's a school night."

What the hell just happened?

"We just got caught up in our assignment."

Were we just flirting? Did we just come on to each other?

"I know. No, Quinn's going to give me a ride."

...and did I seriously do it with _star facts_?

"Okay, we'll leave now. I really am sorry. I'll be home soon. Love you." She hung up the phone and faced me again. She looked at the ground and waved her phone in the air. "That was my daddy. He gets worried when I stay out too late."

"No, yeah. I understand. Let's, uh, let's get you home."

We quickly walked back to the car and climbed inside. The whole ride to her house was silent except for the CD that was still playing and her occasional direction. The entire time, though, my mind was freaking out. I was even drumming my fingers nervously against the steering wheel.

I wanted to be pissed at myself. I wanted to consider repercussions and think about how stupid and selfish I was being but I just couldn't stop thinking about how warm it felt to be against her, how naturally we molded.

"It's right here," she said quietly. I slowly turned into the driveway and when I came to a complete stop she immediately opened the door and crawled out of the car. She shut the door about half way before turning to face me. She made eye contact with my center console and said in a low voice, "I had a really great time with you tonight. Thank you...for everything." She shut the door and quickly walked around the front of my car towards her porch. Before heading inside, she looked over her should at me and offered a small smile and a quick wave of her hand.

I sat in her driveway for a few more moments and I saw a light turn on in the second story of her house. I smiled thinking about her and the probability of her having an extensive night time skin regiment. I was still trying to reprimand myself, but I honestly couldn't do it. I had no idea what the hell happened tonight or what I was feeling, but somehow I knew that that waltz to the piano was one of the best things that had ever happened to me.

* * *

a second an: I had to make an obvious deviation from canon since Quinn having a Blackberry and a Beetle gives me feels. hope you didn't mind _too _much :) also, while I do consider myself a bit of an astronomy fan, I definitely had to do some accuracy research for Q's whole star thing...I guess that's what I get for making my representation of a character smarter and more awesome than me. you've probably had enough of my words, but I must leave you with one last thing: do me a favor and have a good day!


	5. Santana's Interlude: With A Little Help

Santana's Interlude: With A Little Help From My Friends

"...and Santana..."

Wait, that was my name.

"...threw an apple at Azimio at lunch after he said _Selena_ wasn't that good of a movie."

Damn straight I did. That movie is the shit.

I let out a proud huff as I turned my attention back to the blond locks that were entwined with my fingers. Brittany, who was seated on the floor in front of me, lulled her head back into my lap. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was barely stretched in a lazy grin. I scratched my nails gently across her scalp which caused her smile to part slightly and her lips to twitch. I watched closely as the relaxed pleasure washed over her face. God, I wanted to watch her forever, to remember every line and curve...but there goes that voice with that stupid story again and with it went my attention.

"It, like, exploded when it hit him in the face and it looked like he was about to start crying...which started out funny but then just got kind of uncomfortable for everyone."

I rolled my eyes as I continued running my fingers against Brittany's scalp. Why was Quinn harping on this story? Everyone that she talks to in glee was there. _They saw it._

And then I heard a laugh...a boisterous, big-nosed, Jewish laugh.

I slowly turned my head towards the isolated corner of the room that Quinn always sat in...and there it was. Freaking Berry and Quinn sitting together, chatting, laughing. Sure, they did their little duet together and it was good or whatever, but why the hell are they still talking? Doesn't Q understand that she's free now?

"How was yours? Your day, I mean...not your lunch. Well, you can tell me about your lunch too if you want. You don't have to though. I- I _want_ to hear about it but you don't have to tell me if you, uhm, if you don't want to..."Quinn let her words trail off and I had never been more relieved to hear someone shut up in all of my days. Seriously, I don't think I had ever heard her sound so...timid. She was always so confident and sure. As head cheerleader, she kind of has to be. But this...this was strange. The only time I've ever seen her act even remotely close to this was when she first started talking to Finn...and Puck...and that Teen Jesus of Limareth kid from last year...

No...No, it couldn't be. I shook my head in a physical attempt to alleviate my thoughts, but my actions were in vain. The memories began ringing through me in short, quick bursts.

* * *

Freshman year. Annual Post-Nationals slumber party.

"_Santana, have you ever kissed a girl?" She whispers. Everyone's sleeping already._

"_Sure. Me and Brit make out all the time. Guys think it's like, super hot." I shrug. Brittany's pinky traces along mine under our conjoined sleeping bag and my heart skips a beat. "Why?"_

"_Just curious." She rolls to face away from us and falls into silence. Her breathing never steadies._

* * *

Sophomore year. Girl's bathroom.

_I open the stall door and see her standing at the sink fixing her mascara. I begin walking towards her._

"_Uhh, Quinn? Why is there a smutty picture of Rachel Berry drawn on that wall?" I point my thumb towards the crude drawing._

"_...because it's funny," she says without a laugh. She doesn't break her own eye contact in the mirror._

* * *

Summer before senior year. Quinn's backyard.

"_Okay, okay." I stifle my obnoxious laughter. "Marry, boff, kill: Kurt, Finn and...Rachel Berry."_

"_Well, I'd kill Finn for obvious reasons. I'd marry Kurt because he's fabulous and our home decorations would be like, absolutely beautiful...and I guess I'd boff Rachel."_

"_Rachel? _Really_?"_

"_Yeah." She shrugs passively. "I know I've said a lot of mean shit about her...but I don't know, she is actually really pretty. Plus I'd rather bathe in a dumpster than have Finn's malevolent boob sweat dangling over me like menacing little daggers of shame."_

* * *

My fingers abruptly stopped combing through Brittany's hair and my jaw dropped.

_Holy hell,_ why didn't I see this sooner? Quinn's on the DL...she's totally has the hots for Berry! God, I feel so stupid! Oh, shit. All of those emasculating nicknames really make sense now...

"Baby, what's wrong? Why'd you stop?" Brit asked, her voice groggy with mitigation. I untangled my hands from her hair and she turned around to face me. When I saw her confused blue eyes look up at me, I almost forgot what I was even concerned about in the first place but my attention was yet again drawn away when I heard the other familiar voice start speaking.

"Shh..." I whispered as quietly and politely as I could and turned back towards Q and Patti JewPone.

"Oh, it was good. Boring, mostly, but still good. No slushies." Rachel gave a quick thumbs up and the smile that spread on Quinn's face seriously made me want to gag. The poor girl was absolutely_ enamored. _"Although Dave Karofsky did knock my books out of my hands before 6th period...but he tripped up the steps like ten seconds later in what can only be described as a godly act of instant karma."

The laugh that came from Quinn literally startled me.

"Santana...?" Brit was more alert now and I could tell she was starting to get worried.

_Look_, I mouthed at her and nodded my head in the direction of the overheard conversation. Brittany turned her head away from me and towards the two lemons just in time to see Quinn staring rather viciously at Rachel's lips. I don't think Rachel noticed though because her eyes were too busy looking at Q's fidgeting hands in what I can only assume was a concentrated judgment on nail length.

"Normally I try not to laugh on behalf of other people's misery, but I feel no remorse in saying that it was, without a doubt, the highlight of my otherwise uneventful day...Also I'm pretty sure I heard his pants rip." Quinn laughed loudly again and I saw Brittany arch her eyebrows.

"They look really gay," she said plainly as she stood from her position on the floor and took a seat in the empty chair next to mine.

"Mhm," I hummed out with a nod, all the while never taking my eyes off of the two in the corner of the room.

"Like, even more than that lady song from the musical about cross-dressers that Kurt sang by himself last year."

"I know. It doesn't make sense. I mean, I've heard Quinn say that the only reason she's never pantsed Rachel is because she's never seen the girl in anything besides tacky skirts that look like they're from the clearance section of an inner city K-Mart. But...but look at them. They're straight up laughing with each other." My brows furrow and I shook my head lightly. "What has gotten into the world?"

I turned to face Brittany, a confused look still plastered on my features. She smiled at me and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, but I like it."

"What?" I questioned almost aggressively while my face delved further into perplexity.

"Well, look how happy she seems..." I turned back towards the two and saw Quinn with the biggest toothy grin I had ever seen her have. She was beaming at Rachel, who also had a pretty sizable smile laid across her face, although hers came with a blush and seemed a bit more nervous. "...how both of them seem. They look like they're about to puke a double rainbow," she added with a chuckle.

"God, they're pathetic," I said, albeit a little too lovingly for my own liking.

"And kinda hot, too," she hummed into my ear. I hadn't realized she had gotten so close to me and her breath on my lobe sent a ticklish chill through my neck and shoulders. My eyes flickered shut for a moment before I scrunched my face in disgusted realization.

"Ew, I do _not_ want to think about the Chastity Queen and Fanny Brice like that." I shuddered out. I felt Brittany lean away from me and I heard her clap her hands together and let out a knowing laugh. She must have sensed my eye roll because she leaned back into me and rested her chin on my shoulder.

"Relax, hun." She placed a quick, chaste kiss to my cheek and my grossed-out scowl immediately dissolved. "But you can't deny that they _would _be kinda cute together. Maybe we should help hook them up!" I turned again in my chair to face her. The excitement written across her face made me feel guilty for having to tell her no. I mean, she was right. They would have a certain...appeal. Plus, they're both all sorts of insane, so they'd totally balance out each others crazy. And getting to play the Cupid to their Dildo and Gayneas would actually be pretty awesome. But as much as I agreed with Brittany, I knew Quinn would kill us if we ever tried to pry our way into her life like that.

"I don't know if that's a good idea...at least not for Q. You know how she gets when anyone tries to meddle in her business," I whispered, my voice layered with regret.

"I didn't say they had to _know _we were hooking them up," she said with a devilish grin and I felt my chest become considerably warmer. God, she's perfect.

"Brittany, you're a _genius_," I giggled out as my hands reached to cup her cheeks. My thumbs delicately grazed over her perfectly smooth skin and I pulled her smiling lips towards mine.

I'd never admit it to another living soul, but I really do want them both to be happy. They deserve it, Quinn especially. As closed off and guarded as she is, someone for her to feel comfortable with and to open up to would make all of the difference in the world. So what if it that person was a rather obnoxious Broadway enthusiast? Q is my best friend and Rachel would be really good for her.

And besides, she was always super awesome about me and Brit...so supporting her journey along the treasure trail is the least I can do.

* * *

an: I said there'd be Brittana and I try to stay good to my word. :)

Hope you liked the changed perspective in this one. Tell me if I've done proper characterization of Santana because I intend to use her narration again in the future...that is, if you all enjoyed the change. And sorry this is so short. I've already started the next chapter so I'll try to put a little boogie in my step and get it finished as soon as I can.

Also, Cupid does his magic on Dido and Aeneas. It's a stupid joke that I don't know anything about beyond the puns...so I'm really sorry you had to suffer through that one.

And a fun fact! This story wasn't even originally written from 1st person at all. I wrote like 7 or 8 whole chapters from 3rd...but they kind of sucked so now they're just sitting around collecting dust (what's the computer equivalent of dust? Is it cookies? dust bytes? or just flat out wasted RAM? Ah, a question for another day...) Thanks again for your continued support!


	6. Chapter 4: Till There Was You

Chapter 4: Till There Was You

It's Friday. Today's the day that Mr. Shue is announcing the winners of the duets competition. I wanted to be nervous at the possibility of Rachel and I not winning...but honestly, nobody else had a chance. We absolutely _destroyed. _None of the other pairs even came close (Brittany and Santana didn't even get all the way through their duet. They went right after us and only made it halfway through _Let's Get It On _before Santana practically dragged Brit out of the room by her wrist). And I was totally right about the glee club freaking out when they saw me with a guitar. I don't think I had ever seen such a highly concentrated amount of dropped jaws (well, at least outside of Cheerios routines and public setting that were predominantly male populated).

The voting system was in our favor, too. See, usually Mr. Shue had the group vote democratically on the winners...but everyone always just ended up voting for themselves and he got sick of coming up with tie-breakers so this year he decided to have a panel of judges consisting of himself, Miss Pillsbury, and Coach Beiste. I thought Miss Pillsbury's scary chameleon eyes were gonna just eject themselves right out of her head while she was watching us. And I know Coach Beiste cries every time she hears someone sing so it's not really that great of an indicator...but she was _sobbing _over us. Like, snot-nosed, blubbering, total hot mess crying. It was awesome.

...Oh, god. That was so _douche-y_. I should totally be grossed out by my overabundant confidence. Normally I would be...but this time it's completely warranted so fuck feeling guilty. It's not our fault we kicked ass.

_Oh, wait. _Yes it is.

I let my feet swing giddily underneath my chair in the isolated corner of the choir room that I always sat in. I don't remember the last time I had been this excited about anything...and I've been to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter.

I wanted to believe that it had to do with just the sheer competitiveness of it all but deep down, I knew that wasn't it. Winning because of your own hard work is a great source of pride, but winning _with_ someone else is just flat out awesome and truth be told, I was really pumped to be able to share that kind of joy with Rachel...granted that we actually do win.

...which we totally will.

I shot my eyes towards the clock and let them remained fixed upon the excruciatingly slow movement of its hands. Typically Friday practices were really short and I knew Mr. Shue was going to tell us who won right away so I began counting down the final five minutes before practice officially began.

"Hey," a familiar voice said quietly. I looked away from the clock and the smile that was already devouring my face practically doubled in size when I found Rachel's beautiful chocolate brown eyes right before me.

"Rachel! Hi!" I exclaimed with more enthusiasm than I even knew I was capable of.

"Wow, someone's in a good mood today," she said and I scrunched my nose and shook my head jokingly. She let out a low, shy laugh and I seriously thought my cheeks were going to tear. God, she's so..._adorable_.

"Uhm, you looked a little lonely over here by yourself so I thought I'd come ask you how your day was." Her voice was so soft and her little shrug, though a small gesture, showed so much about who she was, about how she cared for people. It was like her actions were apprehensive yet unapologetic and I found that to be such a beautiful combination.

"It was good. Boring mostly, but still good. My mom made me a peanut butter and Nutella sandwich...which I suggest you remember are my favorite if you expect to remain on speaking terms," I said lightly and the natural ease behind her growing smile made my heart skip a beat. "But that was pretty much the highlight. Well, that and Santana threw an apple at Azimio at lunch after he said _Selena _wasn't that good of a movie. It, like, exploded when it hit him the face and it looked like he was about to start crying...which started out funny but then just got kind of uncomfortable for everyone."

She laughed again, yet this time it was big and beautiful and shockingly contagious. And as I sat there, engrossed in her laughter, I realized just how easy it was to be happy around her. It was so effortless, so natural. It felt perfect and I know I should find revelry in that fact, but honestly it _scared _me. I had never felt this way around anyone...not Puck, not Teen Jesus, _especially_ not Finn. But with her, everything seemed so special and knowing that she had that kind of control over me was terrifying. The only thing that was preventing me from going completely off of the deep end was the possibility that maybe, _maybe_ she was happy around me too.

"How was yours? Your day, I mean...not your lunch. Well, you can tell me about your lunch too if you want. You don't have to though. I- I _want_ to hear about it but you don't have to tell me if you, uhm, if you don't want to..." I finally forced myself to shut the hell up after what felt like a year of rambling. I seriously sounded _ridiculous. _Pathetic, even. She has to think I'm some idiot savant who's only specialty lies within the realm of the social destruction of others...like a tragically cliched cheerleader version of Rainman.

God, this isn't me! I'm not timid or faltering or anything else that requires any sort of deviation from absolute perfection. I'm Quinn Fabray, Head Bitch. I exude confidence and threatening glances. I thrive on the smell of fear, damn it! I don't stutter my way through conversations with Rachel Berry.

And there's a reason I'm this way! There's a reason I don't show people this nervously stammering and fearful side of me. If they knew who I was, who I _really _was, they wouldn't be around because who I am is boring and is into Star Wars. Who I am is a person that collects ugly socks and that drives 200 miles just so I can go to book signings. Who I am is someone that no one wants to be.

"It was pretty good. No slushies." Her words words interrupted my thoughts and she gave me a quick thumbs up. And just like that, the smile that began working its way across my face became uncontrollable.

God, who in the _fuck _am I kidding? I'm Lucy Quinn, who's into science fiction and pottery and the smell of old books. I'm shy and I make bad jokes and Rachel, with her adorable gestures and caring nature and beautiful smile, she shows me that it's okay to be that version of myself. That it's interesting and not nerdy or stupid or whatever other bullshit people try to say that it is. I don't know how in the hell she does it, but when I'm with her, I feel more like _me._ Like I can say whatever or be whomever I want. I mean, she even listened to my pointless astronomy knowledge and then she _still_ let me kinda cuddle her!

Jesus, she's...she's fucking _perfect. _

"Although Dave Karofsky did knock my books out of my hands before 6th period...but he tripped up the steps like ten seconds later in what can only be described as a godly act of instant karma." This time, I was the one who was consumed with laughter and I got to watch _her_ lips spread into a smile. I know it's been said a thousand times before, but seeing her smile may be what dreams are made of. The way her dimples surfaced and her eyes scrunched...I wanted so badly to kiss her right now. I wanted to feel her grin into my lips and her warm breath against my nose as she let out an alleviated sigh. I wanted to delicately slide my thumb across her cheek and run my nails softly against the back of her neck. I wanted...

"Normally I try not to laugh on behalf of other people's misery, but I feel no remorse in saying that it was, without a doubt, the highlight of my otherwise uneventful day...Also I'm pretty sure I heard his pants rip." I let out another loud laugh and was reminded of my own embarrassing Karofsky encounter.

"One time Freshman year, I caught Karofsky smelling his own jockstrap after a football game," I said quietly as I tried to repress a giggle.

"No! You're lying!" Rachel practically yelled. Her jaw was dropped and she looked utterly repulsed.

"On my honor," I said as I lifted up my left hand. "He looked like he was about to _gag_."

"That's disgusting! Oh my god, who does that?" she squealed out.

"Apparently he does. You know, he's really not that different than the monkey in that one video that smelled its own butthole. I swear, when he tilts his head down far enough, he looks _just_ like Bubbles. I mean, he has such a wide jaw line and he's so _hairy_! The resemblance is almost uncanny."

Rachel fell into another loud laughing fit. "Never in a million years would I have thought that I would one day hear Quinn Fabray say the word _butthole._"

"Well, unfortunately you did. Don't tell anyone though. It might ruin my reputation," I laughed out.

"Your secret is safe with me," she said as she drew an 'X' with her finger over her heart, which made me realize that earlier, I was wrong. She's not so adorable...she's the _most_ adorable. "Although, I must admit, something about the way you said it made it sound so vulgar...and in a completely disturbing way, it was also oddly soothing. I don't know, there's just something about your voice. It's like hearing a hummingbird that can swear."

"Well, I guess I'll just have to tell you more stories then," I hummed out, borderline suggestively, which actually ended up shocking me a little bit. Partly because it didn't really make sense, but it was mostly due to the fact that I had no clue when I had gotten so brazen with my flirtatious behavior...but I might as well add that to the ever growing list of incomprehensible things Rachel Berry does to me.

"Yeah, I guess you will," She had a coy smile on her lips and her eyes nervously fell away from mine. I watched as they traced around me, across the room, and eventually stopped. "Okay, I'd never even dream of saying this to her face, but I'm actually really happy for Santana. Her and Brittany are super adorable together."

I reluctantly tore my eyes away from Rachel's profile and turned to face Brit and Satan. I saw just as Brittany pulled her face away from Santana's grasp with a laugh and began peppering kisses all over San's nose and cheeks. I felt my heart grow warm and a rewarding smile work its way across my face.

"I know, right? For a while there, I thought they weren't gonna make it, what with Santana being so stubborn and all. But look at them now. I feel like a proud mother watching them. I was there when they met, you know, and from day one I could just tell that they were something special. Like, I don't know...like God had laid a hand with them or something."

"You knew that right off the bat?"

"Yeah, absolutely."

"Are you always that intuitive about relationships?"

"I hope so," I whispered as my eyes found her profile again and she turned towards me. When our eyes connected, I felt that same electricity I always did and I silently prayed that she felt it too.

"Alright, are you guys ready to get started?" Mr. Shue exclaimed excitedly as Rachel took the seat next to mine and turned to face him. I hadn't even noticed that he entered the classroom but I already felt a quiet sense of emptiness without Rachel's eyes locked onto mine. The rest of the club voiced their affirmations with varied levels of enthusiasm and he continued speaking. "I've got a faculty meeting in ten minutes so I'm just going to announce the winners and dismiss you for the weekend. Okay, are you guys ready?"

He paused for a moment, attempting to give us a moment to outlet our excitement. Maybe it was nerves or maybe it was general apathy, but the room stayed silent. "Alright then, let me begin by saying that the whole panel thought all of you, even those who didn't finish," he said pointedly and the whole club turned to Santana as a smugly satisfied grin crept across her face, "did an amazing job. _However_, only one couple can win. So, after much deliberation, the panel has decided that the winners of our second annual duets competition are...Quinn and Rachel!"

Called it.

Mr. Schue's typical single clap and eerily loud laugh filled the otherwise quiet room. Santana, however, made no delay in breaking the silence. "Welp, this is bullshit," she stated quite passively as she got up from her chair and walked calmly out of the choir room. The rest of the club grumbled their displeasures to themselves and followed her lead. After several moments of defeated shuffling, Rachel and I were alone with Mr. Shue.

"Well, uh, congratulations, girls! You really did do an amazing job. I've got to get going, but here's your prize." He handed Rachel an unsealed envelope with the gift certificate inside before turning and heading out of the door.

"Have a good weekend, ladies!" he yelled over his shoulder from the doorway as he broke into a sprint.

"Yeah, you too," I said quietly. He was probably already halfway down the hall, so I didn't really feel the need to say it any louder. I slowly turned and looked at Rachel, who was already facing me and had a giant smile painted across her lips.

"Oh my god, this is amazing! I can't believe we won!" She squealed out as her heals bounced frantically under her chair. I was totally right, seeing her this happy over winning was the best thing in the world...but I still had to tease her a _little _bit.

"Rachel, c'mon," I said as I looked over my eyebrows at her with a small grin pinned to my face.

"Okay, so I knew we were going to win but I'm still really excited!"

"Well, good. You should be. You deserve it. Take that gentle giant of yours out for a nice date night or something. I know how that boy eats, you'd go bankrupt if you ever had to pay for a full meal of his. My half will just help lift the burden a little bit, maybe cover two of his entrees."

Rachel stopped bouncing her legs before questioning sadly,"You don't want to go with me?" The look she gave me managed to both break my heart a little bit and cause it to swell. I didn't want her thinking that I didn't want to go with her...because I absolutely did, but it was kind of refreshing in a weird way to see that spending time with me meant so much to her. But still, she deserved the recognition way more than I did.

"No! ...I mean, I just figured you'd want to take Finn. Anyways, I don't think it'd be appropriate for me to take half the cut. It was you who won this for us. Trust me, you were going to win regardless of who you were paired with. It's only fair that you should take whoever _you_ want. Don't worry about me, this is about you." I leaned over and playfully nudged my shoulder against hers.

"But I want to go with you," she said with a hint of shyness as she began looking at her fidgeting feet.

"Seriously?" I questioned disbelievingly.

"Totally. You're probably right that I would have won no matter who I sang with, but nobody else in the club would have put the effort that you put into this with me. They would have just tried to piggyback on my talent and natural leadership. Then I would have called them out on it and they would have called me a diva and told everyone else that I was being high maintenance. And when we won, they wouldn't even have considered going with me. I know how they work...and I know for a fact that not a single one of them would have picked such a perfectly beautiful song. So, I want to take you, because _you_ deserve it," she finished with her eyes still fixed to her feet. Her hands were folded in her lap and her left thumb was softly rubbing the space between her index finger and other thumb. I let out a quiet sigh and my face briefly molded into a reflection of sadness.

What she said was so nice. I shouldn't have a problem with it. I should be elated...but she's just _too _perfect. She's generous and forgiving and fucking _sweet _and I'm a goddamned hot mess. I'm mean and selfish and there's no way in hell that I could ever, _ever_ be worthy of her affections. And what if she realizes that? What if one day she finally understands that she's so much better than me, that she's better off without me? What do I do then? Because I know I'm not better without her.

But maybe I would be. Maybe things would be easier if I just got off this fucking roller coaster she has me on. It's not fair that one minute I'm looking into her eyes and literally _seeing_ poetry and the next, I'm full of self-doubt and misery. I can't let her have that sort of power over me, over my emotions. I can't keep doing this. I can't.

But I can't _not_ do it. Even if it's only been a few days, I can't picture anything without her now. I mean, she's been around for years, but now she's _here_. Now she's inside of me. She _did _burrow her way into me. Her seed was planted with a single flutter and now, through the first hand witness of her compassion, my veins have been transformed into the roots of her soul within mine.

Oh holy _fuck._

"Wow, Rach. That's uh, that's really sweet," I stammered, my voice a subtle reflection of the polarized anxiety building within me.

"So you'll go?" she asked hopefully.

"Ye-yeah, of course. Though, with that kind of argument, how could I say no?" I questioned through partially feigned excitement and Rachel was back to bouncing on her heels.

"Awesome! Okay, so I know you're busy tonight since there's a football game and all. And I volunteer at the local ASPCA animal rescue and they're having this fund raising thing tomorrow night so I can't do it then...what about Sunday?"

And on top of everything else, she volunteers at a fucking _animal rescue_? Maybe Joe wasn't the Teen Jesus after all...

Wait, she's Jewish, I can't say that.

"Uhm, yeah. Yeah, that works for me."

"Okay, great!" She stood from her chair and I absentmindedly followed her lead. Before I even knew what was happening, she stepped towards me and closed the gap between us. She wrapped me into a tight hug, effectively pinning my arms to my side.

"Quinn, thank you for doing this with me," she quickly whispered in my ear before releasing me and hurriedly walking towards the door. After a few paces, she turned around and began walking backwards while saying, "I'll see you later! Thanks again!"

And just like that, she was gone and I was standing alone, arms still stuck to my sides and consumed with the lingering scent of her flowery perfume and coconut shampoo. She smells like _Heaven_.

God FUCKING damn it, she's adorable!

* * *

_Friday_,_ still._

[9:48 P.M.]

_You were AMAZING at the game today! I had no idea you could do a back handspring, let alone ten in a row!_

[9:52 P.M.]

That was only like 45% me. You can credit the rest to half a pack of Dramamine and Coach's infamous three-a-days.

[9:54 P.M.]

_I don't know, it definitely looked like it was all you. Blonde hair, big hazel eyes, wide smile..._

[9:57 P.M.]

Okay, so maybe it was me ;)

[10:00 P.M.]

_Well whoever it was looked great :). Buuuut as awesome as you were, I've got a long day tomorrow and my bed is calling! Goodnight, Quinn._

[10:01 P.M]

Sweet dreams, Rachel.

* * *

_Saturday_

[7:31 P.M.]

_I'm sorry I keep bugging you but there's a dog at this fundraiser that looks just like Chewie and you'll never guess what his name is!_

[7:33 P.M.]

Please, by all means bug me. I've been watching Food Network Challenge with my mom for like 5 hours straight so I could use the distractions

[7:34 P.M.]

_Oh my god I love that show! I always feel so bad when they drop their cakes on the way to the judging table. But this dog! 3 guesses and I'll tell you ;)_

[7:39 P.M.]

Bob BARKer? Pawla Deen? Sarah Michelle Yeller?

[7:41 P.M.]

_Thanks a lot, Quinn! They're playing that Arms of an Angel commercial and I totally just snorted! _

[7:43 P.M.]

LMAO! Those were so lame! I can't believe you laughed at all...let alone snorted.

[7:46 P.M.]

_Well unfortunately for me, I thought they were cute...but guesses are guesses so I'll still tell you even though you embarrassed me. It's Hans! I know it's technically Han Solo and Chewbacca, but I thought you'd appreciate it nonetheless._

[7:49 P.M]

That. Is. Amazing.

[7:52 P.M.]

_:) I knew you'd like that. My dad is yelling at me to get off of my phone so I'll see you tomorrow! I'm already excited!_

[7:55 P.M.]

Me too :) See you then!

* * *

_Sunday_

"Hey, I'm here," I said into the receiver of my phone as I slowed my car to a stop in Rachel's driveway.

"_Okay, I'm on my way out right now!"_she replied quickly and I heard a click as the other end of the line fell silent. For a brief moment, my breath hitched in my throat and my chest pained. The intoxicating melody of her voice felt like a withdrawal from a drug I didn't even know I was on. It rushed through my veins and lifted me just that much higher. How did I not realize sooner? How did I go this whole time without understanding or even knowing that I missed the delicate pleasure of her sounds humming through my ears?

I should be angry at myself for being stupid enough to not take into account the times when she wouldn't be around. I should be mad for not having appreciated her voice every single time I heard it before, for not soaking it in or letting it wash over me like a calm breeze.

Or should I be mad for thinking like this? For having lost my grasp on my emotions? For feeling this over her? Over _a _her?

God, but the thing is, the fact that she's a she isn't what's bothering me about this situation. I can't even pretend that my issues have anything to do with sexuality or acceptance, whether it be social or self. This is about control. It's always been about control. And right now, Rachel Berry has full control over me...and really,_ that's _what I should be mad about.

I heard my passenger door open and I turned my head towards the noise. When I saw her standing there in a deep V-neck t shirt that ever so slightly exposed the curvature of her breasts and a floral print skirt that stopped midway up her perfectly toned thighs, my mind went void of any insecurities and was flooded with a vague appreciation for the simplicity and consistency in my attachment to her. No matter where she was or what she was doing, she always knew exactly how to bring me back to her.

"Hi, Quinn," she rasped out barely louder than a whisper as she gracefully pulled herself into my car and shut the door behind her.

"H-hi," I replied as I took in every inch of her unmasked skin. My jaw tensed and I made sure to divert my eyes as they approached the slightly hiked hem of her skirt. "You look- you, uh..."

After a few moments of my stammering, she interrupted, "How was your day?" She didn't seem at all put off by my shameless gawking, which I was both extremely thankful for and snapped back into reality with.

"Oh. Uh...it wasn't anything special. I've had a pretty boring couple of days. Your text last night probably made my whole weekend." It was true, it did. And not just because she's educated enough to know it's _Han_ Solo, but because she took time to think of me. She saw that dog and thought of me, she thought to tell me about it, about something that she knew that I would enjoy and appreciate. So I guess she wasn't just thinking of me, she took time out of her life to _know _me.

And in that moment, something within me _clicked_. No one had ever known me. No one had ever really tried. But here was Rachel right before me, trying to tear down my impenetrable walls, and I was pushing her away. Maybe she didn't know that I was, but it was happening. I was trying to counteract every positive response she elicited within me with some bullshit guilty psychobabble about how I shouldn't let her in because what if she left, what would I do if she was no longer here?

But she _was_ here. She was here right now. And how I felt with her staring at me in this moment felt _so_ much better than any pain I had ever experienced. I just had to remember that, ingrain in my mind the idea that this beautiful present was worth any miserable past or unknown future. Hell, if I didn't fuck this up with my insecurities, maybe one day she could even _be_ my future...all that I had to do was just let her in.

"Well, I'm really happy to hear that," she said with such a genuine sentimentality. "I hate to admit it because I was absolutely _mortified_, but your text kinda made my night too."

"That's too bad because I could have kept going with the puns all night. Seriously, I didn't even bring out the big dogs," I said through a giggle which caused Rachel to roll her eyes. I could tell she was fighting a smile and I watched her face carefully until it finally broke through. "Okay, enough of my lame. Let's gets our grub on."

"Yeah, about that..."

"What's wrong?"

"Well, it's just that I know Breadstix is going to be packed and I was kind of hoping that we could talk more because I'm really enjoying getting to know you. Maybe we could go somewhere else and save the stix for another time?" I don't know exactly what she meant by _enjoying getting to know me_, but it made my heart race nonetheless.

"We can just get it to go and eat somewhere else. Do you want to go back to my house? My mom's home but she'll be totally cool about not bugging us. I'll just ask her to like, hang out in her office or something."

"Quinn, that's so mean!" Rachel scolded. The way her brows furrowed and her voice squeaked was so cute. It mad me hopeful for a day where I could piss her off just so I could kiss her back into clarity.

"What? No it's not. She's probably already doing it without even being prompted to. Besides, that woman is a hot damn mess, no holds barred. There's no reason a person as sane as you should be subjected to her particular brand of crazy," I laughed out through partial sarcasm. Don't get me wrong, my mother is a lovely woman...but she's also insane. She's as nice as the day is long with no filter and quite the colorful vocabulary (which I so luckily inherited). I love her more than anyone else but I don't exactly think it's the wisest idea to introduce anyone who isn't themselves certifiably nuts to her. Sure, her and Santana and Brittany have this weird mom/bromance thing going on, but I'm not exactly thrilled at the prospect of someone I may or may not be trying to simultaneously befriend and court being forced into her presence.

"Please, you're being ridiculous. I'd love to meet your mom!" she exclaimed as she excitedly batter her eyelashes.

I stared at her features for a moment before stating dreamily, "Okay." I replayed the image of her eyelids flicker in my mind and was filled with a hope that she never figures out what her eyes do to me. If I am so unlucky and if she ever decides to use this weakness against me, she could get me to agree to anything...like meeting my mother, for example.

...Shit.

* * *

an: Okay, please forgive me for completely and unintentionally lying about the boogie I said I'd be putting in my step for this chapter. I'm sorta working two jobs right now so I've been exhausted. I hope you're not disappointed in what I've managed to put together in my perpetual state of deliriousness and as always, I love and deeply appreciate your feedback. tumblr: wholemottalovin


	7. Chapter 5: Hey Jude

Chapter 5: Hey Jude

We arrived at my house close to an hour later, food in tow and my nerves attempting to boil over. I offered to carry both bags of food, not only because it was polite but because it allowed me to still my anxiously fidgeting hands.

I don't think Rachel noticed my temperament, however, because she was excitedly chatting about the possible differences between the stage production and the recently announced film adaptation of _Wicked_. I don't know the first thing about either, but I listened eagerly nonetheless and I even felt myself slowly calming down. As we approached the door, I became fully aware that my newly-found placidity had everything to do with being able to listen to Rachel's enthusiasm over something that obviously meant so much to her. Hearing her debate herself over her favorite lyrics and who she believed should be the costume designer may not seem like intriguing conversation, but knowing that she found such innocent and devoted passion within something was enough for me.

When we were finally inside, we headed straight for the kitchen. I set the bags of food down on the table as Rachel walked over to greet Chewie, who was looking slightly comatose and was laying on his back with all four paws sprawled wildly in the air. He woke up when she started scratching his exposed stomach and his tail immediately began thumping heavily against the hardwood. However, after a few moments it began slowing down and within a minute, he was once again fully asleep. Rachel quietly laughed and patted him softly before walking back over to me.

"You probably want to meet my mom now, huh?" She happily nodded so I had her follow me down to the end of the hallway towards my mom's office. When I arrived at the already ajar door, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before lightly pushing it further open. I peaked my head inside and saw her sitting in her favorite chair, her head deep in a manuscript with the title _50 Shades of Jesus: A Guide to Loving Your God_ typed largely on the front.

"Hey, mom," I said quietly so I didn't startle her.

"Quinn! I didn't think you were going to be home so soon," she said, sounding almost thankful to be interrupted, as she leaned forward in her chair and set the book down on the small table next to her. "Oh, honey, did dinner not pan out? I know how excited you were, you've been talking about it all weekend and-"

"No, no, it's fine," I interrupted as I opened the door fully and we both stepped into the room. "Breadstix was busy so we decided to eat here. Mom, this is Rachel."

"Hi, Ms. Fabray. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Oh please dear, none of that Ms. Fabray shit," she stated plainly with a flick of her hand. My jaw dropped and I felt my cheeks immediately grow hot.

"_Mom!" _I exclaimed in an undeniably and distinctively adolescent tone._ "_What the hell?"

"I'm sorry, Quinn, but this is my house and I do _not_ tolerate such formalities under my roof," she said as she glanced at me over her glasses with a coy smile on her lips, one that only fueled my aggravation.

"Well, Jesus Christ! That's fine but you don't have to swear at her!"

"_Fine_," she stated melodramatically before turning her attention to Rachel. "Rachel, I'm sorry about my abrasive language. I am truly charmed by your polite nature, but please, call me Judy."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, _Judy_," Rachel replied through a laugh and I let out a small sigh, slightly relieved by how well she was already handling this atrociously embarrassing situation.

"You too, sweetheart," my mom said. She paused for a moment as she cocked her head to one side and stared Rachel down with both intrigue and a vague sense of recognition. "God, you're a cute little shit, aren't you? You know, I think I remember you from Quinnie's show choir competitions! You've got one hell of a voice, girl."

"Thank you so much," Rachel replied gently with genuine appreciation in her voice and my heart began beating heavier, completely fueled by her humble nature. People have been telling her how great she is for her whole life so she has no reason to be humble...but she _is_. Maybe not all the time or maybe not with certain people, like Kurt or Santana or Mr Shuester, but she always is when it counts. As a matter of fact, she's so many things and every time I discover a new piece of her, I can't help but appreciate how refreshing and exciting and _good_ I find it to be. I wish I could show these sides to everyone else in glee or in the school, I want them to see what I see. But more than that, I wish I could have seen it all sooner.

"Don't thank me, thank whatever angels risked their wings to steal a little bit of God and hide 'em in your vocal chords," mom replied and Rachel laughed again, causing my frustration to break.

"Alright, I'll make sure to send my regards."

"Thatta girl," she said with a wink and I rolled my eyes and smiled, finally succumbing to the full extent and reality of my embarrassment. "So Rachel, tell me a little about yourself."

"Mom, c'mon, don't be nosy," I interjected halfheartedly. Truth be told, I kind of _did _want her to ask Rachel a bunch of questions because I wanted to know the answers. I wanted to know as much about her as I possibly could. Call it selfish, but I didn't have _enough _pieces of her. I wanted them all and sure, I've earned some over the past few days or observed some over the past few years, but now was my opportunity to just sit back and listen, to soak in Rachel Berry.

"No, it's okay. I don't mind." She glanced at me with a reassuring smile that I couldn't help but match before continuing in a calm, warm tone, "Well, I've been singing and dancing my whole life so performing is my passion. I actually won my first dance competition at three months old. Granted, that's not a very active age group and the fact that I was the only one who could stand kind of ensured me that victory."

My mom laughed loudly and Rachel's smile grew considerably. I looked at her lips, this time not entranced by my desire but by the familiarity of their displacement. I may not know much about Rachel as a whole but I definitely recognized this smile. It was one of quiet pride, one that always came when the subtle nature of her sense of humor was successfully distinguished by someone other than herself. Most of the time, however, the dry wit of her comments were perceived as being either self-righteousness or overly verbose so I had only seen this smile a few times. As a matter of fact, the only times I had ever saw it were when _I _caused it.

* * *

Choir room, Junior year

_Mr. Shue is babbling about this week's assignment: hip hop. I immediately feel bile rise in my stomach at the thought of him rehashing his rendition of _Bust a Move_. He begins talking about the history of hip-hop and I try to listen but I tune him out when he says something about "most influential artist" and Vanilla Ice in the same sentence. My attention is drawn back in a few minutes later when he begins handing out lead solos._

"_Artie, I was thinking that maybe you and Mercedes could do _Killing Me Softly_. What do you think?"_

"_That sounds dope," Artie says in that almost charming ghetto-white boy way he's prone to speaking in and I see Mercedes nod in agreement._

"_Excuse me, Mr. Schue, but I don't think that's the best idea," Rachel interjects and all eyes in the room, including mine, go directly to her. Artie and Mercedes both have traces of disturbance on their face but I notice that her tone had a very subtle hint of sarcasm. I cock my head in confusion and listen closely as she continues on, "While I must admit that Mercedes is perfect for the female lead, don't you think that I, as a member of both the Speech Club and Black Students Union, would be a more appropriate choice for male lead than Artie?I mean, I would be the most suitable Wyclef to Mercedes' Lauryn."_

"_Uhh..." Mr. Chia, along with the rest of the club, looks shell shocked and I cover my mouth with the side of my fist in an attempt to stifle some of the not-so-silent laughter forcing itself out of my body. She turns in her seat to stare back at me. At first when our eyes meet, she looks almost bewildered but after a second, her expression dissolves and a small smile forms on her lips. We hold eye contact for a moment before her lashes flutter and she turns back around to place her head on Frankenteen's shoulder._

"_Let's, uhm, let's pretend that didn't happen and just continue on," Schue proposes to a unanimous glee club and as Finn's arm wraps around Rachel, I feel the tiniest pang of jealousy course through my stomach._

* * *

"Quinn, honey, pick up your jaw."

"Huh?" I mumbled out, completely and briefly unaware of anything besides my thoughts. That was jealousy...that was _then_. No...no, it couldn't be. I _hated _her. It was just...he was my ex and there's always that jealously that lingers even when the relationship and the feelings within it are _long _gone. At least, that's what I thought then. Hell, it even made _sense_ then. But in light of recent events...and flirtations, I guess it's all far more understandable now. God, does it all make sense now...

"Well it's just that you're just looking rather...shocked. Are you really that surprised that Rachel here got early acceptance at NYADA?"

"What? No..." I replied with an almost exasperation before realizing that _I_ was the one in need of my own reprimanding. A moment ago I was just so resolved to listen to everything about her and within two minutes, I was completely absorbed in _myself_, in my feelings and confusions. She deserved so much better than that. That was how Finn treated her, like her words didn't matter. He took advantage of being able to listen to her, to hear her thoughts and secrets, to _know_ her and I just couldn't handle the idea that I would treat her in the same way. I let out a sigh and in a much softer and tender tone continued on with how I should have reacted had I been paying attention to her in the first place, "No, absolutely not. She's the most talented person I've ever known and...and she's going to do amazing things. As a matter of fact, if she doesn't have an armful of Tony's by 25, I'll sell all of my belongings and move to New York myself to become a full-time Broadway protestor."

I heard Rachel laugh so I turned my head towards her but she was already facing me, a charmed smile placed across her lips. Her eyes quickly darted towards my mouth, causing the corner to rise into a crooked grin. We stared at each other for a few quick, intimate moments before she became bashful and turned away to continue speaking to my mother.

"But, uh, my dads, they want me to move to the city at the end of the school year. Something about having the whole summer to adjust so I'm not overwhelmed when my classes start. Honestly, I think they're more excited than I am, which is saying a lot because I've been researching this school since the 6th grade when I saw Carmen Tibideaux on Broadway in the 20th Anniversary revival of her one-woman production, _The Spook Show_."

"Wait, wait, wait. Your...your dads?" my mom asked, her eyebrows furrowed slightly. I saw Rachel tense slightly at my mom's questioning, but before I could fully process the change in her demeanor she straightened her shoulders and gave a confident nod of her head

"Yes."

"You have two dads?" mom questioned again and Rachel gave another nod.

"Yes I do," she stated in a firm tone that lacked any hints of aggression, which I was surprised about. Not that I thought that Rachel would be aggressive, especially towards my mother, but I was just shocked at how simply and gracefully she handled questions about her parents. I hate that it has to be this way, especially for someone as amazing as her, but the fact of the matter is that this is Ohio, Rachel has to be fully aware that some people may not be supportive of her or her family and yet she still she showed so little fear over her pride in being apart of a loving and caring home.

"No shit..." she trailed off. She looked like she was thinking about something and I could see Rachel beginning to tense up again, but before she could fully my mom nodded her head and let a big smile pull across her lips. "That's awesome. We'll have to have you all over for dinner sometimes. Hey, speaking of dinner, you said you were going to eat here, right? Do you want me to cook you two up something?"

"No, that's alright. Rach and I took out from Breadstix so we're okay. Plus, Rachel's a vegan and I know for a fact you don't know a single thing about how to cook for her," I teased. My mom stuck her tongue out at me and I chuckled under my breath.

"Thank you though," I added through my laugh. "But, uh, we're gonna eat now so..."

"Okay, okay. I'll wrap it up. Rachel, you're absolutely lovely and you're welcome anytime. Quinnie, try and stay sober, will you?"

"No- I'm not gonna- Whatever. Bye, you crazy old lady."

"Bye, girls. Have fun," she said with a wave of her hand as she picked up her book and settled back into her chair.

With that, we left her office and headed back towards the kitchen. As Rachel took a seat at the table, I walked over to the cupboards and began gathering dishes and silverware for the two of us. We ate our meal slowly, constantly distracted by conversation. A silent moment never fell between us as discussions of our weekends and class schedules continued on. After we had finally finished, I removed our dishes and placed them in the sink to clean up later.

She watched me as I walked around the kitchen both before and after dinner. Not only could I sense her stare but we caught each others eyes several times. Every time we would smile at each other, these warm, comfortable smiles, and my mind would flash to the possibility of us ten or fifteen or twenty years down the road. Her face, aged but still every bit as beautiful, smiling on at me as she watched me cook. We would eat with our knees touching under the table and talks of our daily adventures never growing dull. Then, every night, we would sit on a bench in our backyard garden, holding hands as we watched the sunset.

I felt myself blush at the serenity it brought me, a future with Rachel. But before I could let it grow into one of an embarrassing degree, I thought of a way to bring a piece of my hopefulness to me _now_.

"Hey, Rachel?" I questioned as I turned to face her. Her eyebrows rose in a silent acknowledgment and I began nervously picking at the hem of my shirt. "I have this really cool swing in my backyard. It overlooks a small pond that's got like, all of these really pretty wildflowers and trees around it. Do you want to go sit out there and like...I don't know, talk or something?"

"Yeah, that sounds really nice," she replied with a calmed enthusiasm and I tried to manage the goofy grin that I was sure was beginning to take over my face.

We stepped out into my yard through the sliding glass door in my kitchen and walked over to the swing that sat atop of the small hill a few hundred feet from my house. As we both took a seat, I realized that I was yet again sharing with Rachel something that made a part of me. This spot was probably my favorite place in my world. I came out here to think, to relax, to write and I didn't know if it was the stability of the nature wading through me or my growing adoration of her, but giving her this part was shockingly easy.

"I'm having a really good time tonight," Rachel said quietly, her eyes slowly panning across the landscape.

"Me too," I replied, my voice reflecting the peace of mind I currently felt and I smiled as I watched a goose and three pale goslings float lazily across the water. "Sorry about my mom, though. She's a total nutcase."

"Quinn, are you kidding me? She's amazing."

"I guess she's a bit of that, too," I replied with a laugh. "Well, regardless, she seemed to really like you."

"Good, I'm really happy," she said with a proud nod of her head. "But I have to ask...what was up with that sobriety comment? Are you like a secret drunk or something?"

"God, no. She's just being a smartass." I said with a wave of my hand. I paused to weigh the pros and cons of telling her exactly _why_ she was being a smartass and after a moment, I rolled my eyes and gave in to my honesty. "Okay, well, technically she did catch me drunk this summer so I guess it wasn't completely sarcasm."

"No way! What happened?"

" She came home from work and I was passed out in the front yard."

"Oh my God, Quinn!" Rachel exclaimed with pure shock. "Are you serious? Did she flip out? My dads would have _killed_ me!"

"No, not really. There were extenuating circumstances so she was surprisingly cool about it."

"Forgive me if I'm prying, but what circumstances would justify you passing out on your lawn?"

"I don't know if I really feel comfortable talking about it," I said weakly. I know I said I needed to let her in, to show her more of me, but there was still a nagging, resilient part of my mind that screamed _no_.

"Oh, okay. That's totally fine. I-I'm really sorry if I crossed a line or anything." She looked at me with consoling eyes and gave me a small smile and I couldn't help but hear Sir Paul McCartney himself whisper in my ear, _Remember to let her into your heart..._

"No. It's- you know what, I'll just tell you," I said with the tiniest semblance of a grin placed across my lips.

"No, seriously, Quinn. If you don't feel comfortable telling me, you don't have to. It's completely okay."

"You...you deserve to know. There's a lot you deserve to know about me, actually...and no better time than the present, right?" _The minute you let her under your skin..._

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah...yeah, definitely," I replied, my voice sounding more confident than I felt, even with one of the most incredible songs of all time playing parallel to my current situation. "Uh, remember how I said my parents weren't together?"

"Yes, of course."

"And that my dad left when I was thirteen?" This time, she nodded her answer. "Well, I haven't actually talked to him since then. Like, not a word. But at the beginning of the summer, I got a letter from him and I kind of had a meltdown.

"The letter- he, uhm...it was just really bad. He got my age wrong and told me to call him but gave me no way to contact him. He put a check in there as a 'graduation present' and...I don't know, it was just super messed up. So, I got really drunk and wrote him a letter back telling him to go fuck himself. Then I lit the check...and the kitchen table on fire. _Then _I took off one of my shoes and sang the chorus of _You Oughta Know _into it for two hours straight...and the next thing I knew, my mom was yelling at me. I showed her the letter he wrote me and the letter I wrote _him _and then she kind of understood why I was passed out in the front yard."

"Oh my God, Quinn. I- I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"I'm not," I replied, my head falling slightly as I shrugged my shoulders.

"Why?" Her eyebrows were creased and her eyes looked concerned but curious. And I could understand why...but McCartney was currently telling me to make the best of my situation, to take my sad song and make it better and who was I to deny Sir Paul?

"Well, I always thought it never bothered me, that he left, because even when he was around he wasn't really _around_. It was just kind of like one day he was there and the next day he wasn't. It never really sunk in that he _left_ us, that he chose to. But hearing from him, it forced me to deal with the reality of the situation...I wasn't okay with it. I had never been okay. I was just...empty. I had purged myself of any and all deep, meaningful emotions because I thought feeling nothing was better than feeling hurt. And he was the one who taught me to think that way. He taught me that being stoic and not letting on, he told me that was strength. If no one saw it, it wasn't there. He made us all pretend that we were fine, that we were happy so by the time I moved here, I was so used to pretending that I didn't know how to do anything else. And when I opened that letter and he had the fucking _nerve_ to act like there was nothing wrong, like everything was just okay, I realized I was doing the exact same thing. He ran from his problems and I was following right in his _cowardly_ footsteps. I just...I couldn't believe it and I knew I couldn't live that way anymore. I couldn't keep pretending...so I stopped. I stopped acting like being alone meant being safe and I stopped hiding all of my issues and just allowed myself to _feel_ something for once. And...and when I finally did, it was one of the most amazing moments of my life. So as much as I want to hate him for everything he's done and caused, I sort of can't. Without that stuff, I wouldn't have ever tried to fix anything. I wouldn't be trying to be a better person...and I definitely wouldn't be sitting here with you right now."

"Well, I'm really happy that you're doing better because I really like spending time with you," she said as she leaned over and lightly bumped her shoulder into mine.

"Yeah, me too," I replied through a smile. We sat quietly, staring over the pond for what felt like both an eternity and no time at all.

"I've always wanted to be friends with you, you know," Rachel said softly. I couldn't tell if she was being shy or was attempting to disturb the quiescent nature as little as possible. However, when she shrugged and suddenly had a look of timidness written across her stature, I knew it had to be the former.

"Are you serious?" I questioned disbelievingly. "...why?"

She mulled over her answer for a moment as she looked down upon the fingers that were delicately picking at their nails. "I don't know, there was something in me that just _knew_ we would have been good for each other. You being so level headed and confident and me being outspoken and maybe a little _too_ driven, we would have had a great system of personality checks and balances."

"I guess there's that but...why would you want to be friends with someone who was so _awful_?"

"I didn't think you were awful. How you treated me, that was awful. But I could always tell that _you _weren't." She paused before saying confidently and with a nod of her head, "I think part of it was your eyes, they're very expressive."

"Oh really?"

"Yep." She paused for a moment yet again. Her legs were swinging nervously underneath the bench and she had dropped her head to look at her still-fidgeting hands. "I still want to be friends with you," she said with another shrug.

"But..._why_?" I whispered insecurely. I don't think I had ever been so confused about a persons intentions in my life. Why was she still trying? Why did she even _want_ to try? I was terrible to people, I insulted them and used their insecurities to my advantage. I walked around with a demon tethered tightly around my neck and because of that, no one wanted to be around me. But now, here she was, offering herself up for sacrifice. I didn't get it. I _needed_ to get it.

"I don't understand why _anybody_ would want anything to do with me, let alone you. You're so great to everybody and I'm kind of a bitch and it's just that...there's so much I feel guilty about and I don't know how to not feel this way. I don't know how to look anyone in the eyes or...or even be around them without feeling _ashamed. _Do you know what that's like?"

"No, I don't but you have to quit thinking like this. You don't deserve-"

"No...I _do_ deserve this. I need to feel guilty because I _knew_ what I was doing...and what kind of person continues to tear people down even when they know how much it _hurts_?" I felt my eyes beginning to well up. I could tell whatever was left of my facade of strength was crumbling so I buried my face into my hands, a child-like hope springing within me that maybe if I couldn't see her, she couldn't see me. That'd I'd just disappear...vanish into thin air, into a place where I didn't have to worry about my past or my walls or whatever tarnished piece of my mind I was currently trying to battle.

"Quinn-"

"My real name isn't even Quinn," I absentmindedly admitted through a mumble, weakly trying to veil the grogginess behind my voice.

"I'm sorry?"

"It's Lucy. Quinn's my middle name," I replied, my voice still muffled by my hands. A few moments passed and I felt something warm brush against the skin above the crook of my elbow but I, out of sheer physical and mental weakness, made no effort to lift my head. Then suddenly I felt Rachel place the entirety of her hand upon my forearm. Slowly, she drew her hand upward towards mine, skating smoothly and tenderly across my skin. Her fingers entwined with the tops of mine and she delicately pulled our conjoined hands away from my face. My heart began picking up pace and I turned my sunken head to watch as she examined my palm.

"You said you were kind of obsessed with astronomy...well, I know it's dumb and completely illogical, but I'm kind of obsessed with fortune telling. It started when I was nine. I predicted that Chicago was going to sweep the Oscars and Santana was going to break her arm at recess on the same day. The movie won like half of what it was nominated for and she only sprained her wrist but after then, I couldn't stop...I even went as Miss Cleo for Halloween that year. Anyways, I learned how to read palms a few years ago. This..." she said as she swept her index finger deliberately across the sensitive skin. My breath caught in my throat and I could feel every nerve on my hand responding to her touch. "...is your heart line. It deals with emotions and relationships. Yours is very long and deep, which means you're a strong person. And that curve? That means that you're actions hold deeper meanings. You're warm and good-natured but you need control."

My eyes traced every feature of her face, trying to find any evidence of the same vulnerability and fear she was bringing out in me. I didn't find any. Instead, she continued running her finger across my palm. "This is your life line. Yours is straight, so you tend to be cautious. And your fate line is here. I don't really remember how to read it but I'm sure yours says good things." I let out a small laugh and she clasped her other hand over mine, giving it a soft, comforting squeeze. "I know you've already shared so much with me and I can tell that isn't easy for you...but it's okay to talk to me, Quinn."

She looked into my eyes, deeply and with such sincerity that I couldn't help but feel like I _needed_ to tell her everything...so I simply gave in.

"Before I moved here I-" I paused and let out a sigh, once again trying to garner enough to courage to reveal to Rachel yet another of my most personal and intimate secrets. This time, however, with her hand firmly grasping mine and a look in her eyes that read nothing but care and devotion, proved to be much easier than any of the last. " In-in primary school, I was bullied a lot. I was like, 30 pounds heavier and I had braces and these huge, thick glasses. My skin was bad and I always wore these _dorky _hiking sandals with ankle high socks...and, and I was just a mess. I didn't fit in with anybody and they were all...I don't know, just mean to me. So when I found out my parents were divorcing, when I found out we were moving, I joined gymnastics and dyed my hair blonde hoping that maybe at my new school I could be somebody who actually fit in for once.

When we got here, I started going by Quinn because the kids at my old school, they used to call me Lucy Caboosey. And then when I started at McKinley, I got head cheerleader right away and was kinda thrust into everyone's radar. I had no idea how to respond to all of the attention I was getting so I just did what everyone else was doing. I didn't expect it to get out of hand like it did and I didn't want to be like everybody else that made my life a hell...but it happened and now I have no idea how to take it all back."

Silence fell between us, which I greeted initially with a warm welcoming. I just...I needed to think for a second. Part of me felt so relieved, so weightless, like the barriers of my past had finally been lifted. They rose away, each and every mistake, as the syllables of my transgressions rolled off of my tongue. But all of that weight, this time carrying with it a different meaning, crashed back down upon my shoulders when I finally comprehended the fact that I had shown someone every single part of me that I had tried my hardest to hide away. It felt like years of my life, wasted. So much effort, so much emptiness and loneliness for nothing. I had made myself a figment and remained pacified to my own misery, only to fall at the knees of a practical stranger, a person who could have continued on quite normally without the knowledge of my self-destructive nature. But now, it was all out. There was nothing I could do to take it back. There was nothing I could do to take _any_ of it back. A wave of helplessness washed over me and I felt a chill rising up my spine, but before it could roll over my body, I heard Rachel's voice chime into my mind, breaking through the hallowed silence like the delicate call of a songbird.

"You said earlier...you said you were trying to better yourself. And the other night, do you remember I asked you if you were trying to be a better person and you said yes?"

I nodded my head.

"That's why I want to be friends with you, because you're doing what so many people don't have the courage to do: you're _trying_...and you're doing a damn good job, too. What you've shown me over the past few days...you're such an amazing person.

"I'm not amaz-"

"You may not know so, not yet, but you _are._ You're _so_ smart and kind and funny and...and you're really special, Quinn."

"Rachel, I'm not-"

"Yes. You. Are. You know how I know? That kid in our grade, Jacob, with the Jew-fro and pleated jeans and the constantly runny nose? Well, I was running late to class once and I saw him in the hallway. He had dropped all of his books and I saw you literally go out of your way to help him. Like, turned around and retreated 10 steps just to pick up his stuff. A kid that barely anyone in the school even bothers to acknowledge and you helped him, no hesitation."

"I didn't think anyone was around," I said under my breath as I lowered my head and shook it softly, ashamed that the anonymity of the situation was the driving force behind my kindness.

"I know." I looked at her from under my eyebrows and she was smiling so beautifully. I felt a tear roll down my cheek and I tried to turn away from her but her complete loveliness held me in place. "That's why it impressed me so much. I finally saw you away from all of those dumb jocks, away from your head cheerleader identity...and what I saw was incredible. That's when I knew that I-...that I wanted to know you. And what you've shown me of yourself over the past few days, I can tell...I _know_ you don't share that kind of stuff with people. You're so strong and brave and the truth is, I don't care about your past or what name you went by or the things you did, I care about _you_."

Her eyes were locked into mine and if my eyes were really as expressive as she claimed, then I know she could feel the emotion that they were radiating. I had never _ever_ had someone say anything like that to me...that they cared about me and it meant everything that I could have ever hoped. I know she said that I didn't know how amazing _I _was, but neither did she. She had no idea how incredible she was. And with her extent, there was no way she could. But God, did I want to show her. I wanted to write it in the stars and across her skin. I wanted every touch and every word to be an oath..._my_ oath to her and her incredible compassion and good will. God, I just wanted her. No I thinks, no maybes. Nothing besides her. I...I _wanted_ her.

"You're so beautiful," I whispered out, completely entranced by my overwhelming level of emotion.

"Yeah?" she questioned quietly, nervously. I removed my hand from hers and rose it to tuck a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. Her head ever so slightly leaned into my touch and I was pretty sure that the soul of every butterfly who had ever roamed the Earth took residency in my stomach.

"I'm sorry for ever trying to make you feel otherwise. I was...I was _so _wrong. I don't want you to feel like you're anything less than perfect ever again."

"Quinn," she breathed out my name and I don't think I had ever heard anything so wonderful or melodic in all of my life. I moved my hand away from her hair and towards her cheek, letting my thumb draw soft, slow circles over her skin. My tongue raked over my lips, dampening them and leaving them slightly parted, and my face began moving slowly towards hers. Her hand reached up, fingers entwining over mine yet again and-

"Quinnie, honey, where are the good pair of tweezers?"

* * *

an: the next few weeks of my life are about to get crazy, what with impending babies (no worries, not mine), weddings, family, working, concerts, moving...but i'll do my best to get the next chapter rolling. anyways, big thank you to everyone who's involved themselves in my story somehow, whether it be through favoriting/following, posting reviews, or even reading at all...you guys are too nice to me! tumblr: wholemottalovin


	8. Chapter 6: Devil In Her Heart

Chapter 6: Devil In Her Heart

After apologizing more times than I could even count and calling myself an idiot even more times that _that_, Rachel left my house swearing that whatever happened between us was fine, that it was okay. My mom seemed to have more questions than she did, wondering why I always hogged the good beauty products in the house and how I manage to need the tweezers three times a week.

Shockingly, the next day at school wasn't even awkward or weird between Rachel and I. We kept bumping into each other, naturally it was more than we usually did, but every time felt refreshing, like seeing her smile at me was on par with a cold drink of water. Knowing that maybe, _maybe _we found something within each other, something as simple as comfortableness or honesty was so much more hydrating though.

My last class of the day was Calculus. I left the room a few minutes late and began heading towards my locker. The halls had cleared out, almost completely, and as I made my way past the library, I caught something that looked strikingly like a burgundy carousal horse sweater from the corner of my eye. A smile grew on my face and I began heading towards a distant Rachel.

As I approached her, I felt someone quickly brush past me. I watched curiously as a determined David Karofsky rushed down the hall. What I didn't realize, or at least not in enough time to prevent anything, was that he was headed towards Rachel, a big gulp held firmly in his grip.

Before I could run between them or even scream down the hall, I heard the infamous slosh and light impact of slushie on skin contact. Rachel stood in place as the red ice began dripping off of her features, her hands glued to her sides and mouth hanging open in shock. Instantly, my world went red.

I stormed down the hall, quickly arriving beside Karofsky, and gripped his shoulder tightly. With as much force as I could I pulled the front of his body to face mine. After stumbling slightly, he straightened his posture and looked down upon me with furious eyes.

"What the hell?!" he snapped. My hands immediately reached out and aggressively filled with the collar of the tattered letterman's jacket he was wearing.

"What the fuck did you just do?!" I yelled hoarsely as I yanked the fabric of his coat towards me.

"Uh, I slushied that loser chick. Now let go of my jacket," he said, trying to shrug my grip free. My hands tightened even further and I pulled again.

"I'm not letting go of shit until you apologize!"

"Please, I'm not apologizing. Especially not to _her,_" he said with a huff as his hand motioned towards Rachel. I couldn't look at her though. Just being aware of the fact that she was standing there, eyes filled with tears and her skin beginning to stain was enough to make my blood boil. If I turned around, if I saw it too, I'd snap. "She walks around all proud and uppity. Then she has the nerve to think she's exempt because she's dating head homo Finn Hudson...but obviously she doesn't understand the social order. She's a loser and losers get slushied."

My hands unclasped his clothing and pushed against his shoulders powerfully. He stumbled backwards and his back landed roughly against a row of lockers. As the echo rang down the empty corridor, I approached him again, this time reaching up and gripping with one hand the fabric of his t-shirt directly under his chin.

"Rachel has more intelligence and talent on her _headband _than you will ever personally encounter in your life," I spat out. "She's not a loser and if I ever see you or any of your neanderthal buddies near her ever again, I swear on my life there will be consequences."

"Fuck you. You can't tell me what to do," he said with a patronizing laugh as his forearm knocked my hand away from his chest. He attempted to walk away but I pushed into his shoulders again. Another crashing echo rippled down the hall and he looked at me with a confused expression of shock.

"Okay, I get that you've had to overcome a lot in your life, what with having a skull so thick that a brain any larger than the fist of a premature baby is an impossibility for you, but I really don't understand what you're so confused about," I said with a militant coldness. "Here, I'll put it in terms your unfortunately miniscule brain can comprehend: You are to never slushie, insult, or even _look_ at Rachel ever again. As a matter of fact, the only time you are allowed to so much as even say her name is to tell the rest of your troll-like football friends that _ they_ are never to slushie, insult, or look at Rachel ever again. Now, do you need me to find the nearest able-minded primate to translate that into ape for you or do you think you got the gist?"

"You can't make me do shit," he responded through gritted teeth. I could visibly see the anger rising within him and honestly, it made me proud. "I know you're head cheerleader and all, but that doesn't make you any more special than any other dumb slut in this school."

"Don't you dare-"

"It's okay, Rachel," I interrupted before she could say anything even slightly provoking towards Karofsky. I didn't want her getting any more involved than she already was. I didn't want him throwing even more insults her way or trying to tear her down any more because the thought of him trying to hurt her any further was too much for me to handle. I turned towards her to offer her a reassuring smile, completely forgetting about her state of disarray, and the first thing I noticed were her cheeks. I couldn't tell if it was because they were stained or cold or reacting to the impact but they were so red. I looked to her eyes and nothing had ever seemed more like glass, so fragile and exposed. She was about to break and I couldn't have that. I couldn't see her become damaged or even cracked, so instead, I broke.

"Dumb slut? I have a 4.0 and I was president of the celibacy club for two years so your insult holds absolutely no merit. However I can say, with much confidence, that I am completely accurate when I tell you that you look like a shaved ox, so much so that I can't help but want to slap some reigns on you, attach them to my car, and make you pull me all the way to Oregon. I might be better off with actual oxen though because then I don't have to worry about them catching some sort of disease from eating their own feces." His jaw dropped and an unsettling anger arose in his eyes.

"You know what? I'm not saying shit to anyone so go fuck yourself. As a matter of fact, now your little dyke-ish freak friend is gonna get it ten times as bad and there's not a goddamn thing you can do to stop me or anyone else!"

"Dyke-ish? Very interesting choice of words. You think you'd stay away from gay slurs, you know, considering."

"Considering what? What the fuck are you talking about?" he questioned angrily.

"I know it comes too naturally to ignore, but playing stupid, along with a seemingly infinite list of personality flaws, does not bode well for your character."

"Look, I don't know what you're-"

"Yes you do. But I guess I'll do my best to try and explain the obvious to you." I paused for a moment, just long enough to project an image of confidence, and drew in a deep breath. "I don't know if you've somehow already forgotten, but you mentioned earlier that I'm head cheerleader, to which I'd like to say congratulations, you know at least one fact. I'm both thoroughly impressed and harboring what can only be described as maternal sense of pride. But I digress. See, being head cheerleader is more than just short skirts and a social status that allows me to ruthlessly insult ogre-like beings such as yourself with absolutely no fear of consequences or retaliation. It comes with responsibility, too. Things like making sure no one dies during a stunt or organizing protests when parent groups threaten to revoke some of our funding when someone actually does. One of my more menial responsibilities is that I have to make sure that my Cheerios correctly put away all of our used equipment after practice. You know, just make sure that our storage shed is clean and organized. Do you know where our equipment shed is?"

"I...I-"

"Gosh, I'm so silly. I don't know why I asked you that. Of course you do! I've seen you behind there several times with your one buddy. What's his name? Azimio, right?"

"No...No, no, no," he stammered.

"Of course, you two seemed a little bit..._busy_ so you probably didn't notice me. Unfortunately for both of us, I noticed _you._" As I spoke, I felt a brief sense of surreality float through me, like a sort of gentle nightmare, but I continued on anyways, fully committed to Rachel's well-being no matter the cost.

"How- no, it's not what you think. You...you can't tell anyone, please. I'll-I'll do anything you want," he pleaded with absolute desperation in his voice and I was suddenly snapped out of whatever borderline sadistic trance I was in. For the first time, I looked _at _David. I didn't look through him or past him or at him trying to see what I wanted to see, what _he _wanted me to see. I looked at his face and into his eyes and I didn't see the Karofsky who just assaulted Rachel. I didn't see the young man who had spent so much of his high school life like I had, torturing others because of a facade. What I saw before me was a scared child with nothing but fear and helplessness behind his eyes. I saw the same demons that I myself had been trying so hard to escape. Immediately upon my discovery, I felt my stomach flip and it took everything to not empty its contents into the nearest trash can. "No...this can't be happening. This can't...Please, you can't."

My jaw hung open and I tried to form words but nothing came out. There was nothing within me but paralyzing disgust.

"Quinn, what do you think you're doing?" Rachel questioned from behind us with such an unusual seriousness and my disgust soon found company within my explosive shame. I turned my head towards her and when our eyes met, there was such hurt and disappointment in hers. I gasped for air, the sharp intake felt like needles but nothing compared to her eyes. Those were daggers and my conscience deserved every single one of their guided plunges.

I shook my head, still slack-jawed and unable to form any words. I was so _fucked._ I thought I was finally doing something for her, protecting _her_ and I fucked it up. She showed me love and care and how did I repay her? By implying that I was going to destroy the life of one of our classmates in her honor. I mean, Jesus, she _cared _about me. She showed me true, honest to God human fucking compassion and this was my idea of reciprocity?

And, fuck, what about _David_? This could have ruined him. _I _could have ruined him.

No. No, I couldn't let it end like this. I couldn't come all of this way with her, with _myself_ to throw it out of the window in five minutes. I couldn't threaten somebody like this, with something like this. This...this could be redeemed. This could be fixed or...or something. There had to be a way. There _had_ to be.

"Rachel, could you wait out here for a moment? David, I need you to follow me." I didn't look at either while I addressed them, I just looked ahead. I couldn't see their expressions because I couldn't risk the fact that I might run away. So instead, I walked away. I walked towards a nearby classroom and a chill washed over me as I stepped into the dark, empty room. I walked over to the teacher's desk and as I took a seat atop of it, I heard the door slam. I looked over and saw him standing there, hands shoved deeply into his pockets and body flexing defensively. He was staring at the ground and his refusal to meet my eyes felt like salt on a gunshot wound.

"David, I am _so_ sorry about that...the name calling and blackmailing and stuff. I promise I didn't want to ever bring that up to anyone, I swear. It was just...Rachel means a lot to me and I couldn't handle seeing her hurt like that. You understand, don't you?"

"Understand?!" he yelled loud enough to cause me to flinch. Out of everything I was feeling or had felt over the past few minutes, this was the first time I felt any semblance of genuine fear. I knew that I had taken things too far but it was only now that I finally questioned what constituted crossing the line to _him_. "Do _you _understand what you just did? Do you understand what this could do to me if it got out...what I'd do?"

As his words progressed, my short-lived fear began to dissipate. This wasn't a man of violence or of taunting nature, this was a grown child reacting to being broken down by his own doing...and that was a state I was all too familiar with.

"Listen," I practically whispered out, trying my best to express the deeply personal nature of my current level of empathy. "Just because I know about this doesn't mean you need to do anything drastic, okay? Sure, we haven't gotten along in the past, but that doesn't mean I want anything bad to happen to you...or anyone else for that matter. I promise I won't tell another living soul, I _swear._ Just please, _please_ leave Rachel alone."

"Why should I trust you? No...no, fuck you!" he said with a half-hearted harshness. He turned and began reaching for the doorknob and I felt a flash of panic. If he left this room without any sort of resolution, we'd both be wreaked.

"Don't leave!" I exclaimed, breaking him from his actions. He turned back towards me and for the first time, met my eye. I continued on, as softly as I could, "Just please, come sit down. You can trust me, really."

I could visibly see him mulling over his decision to come sit, to put faith into me. After a moment, however, he almost reluctantly and definitely fearfully, made his way over to the desk directly in front of me.

"Why can I trust you? Why should I even begin to believe you?" he questioned with a helplessness, a certain kind of need to understand, as he took a seat in the desk.

"Because you're not as alone as you think you are. I know what you're feeling. Maybe not the trapped in the closet thing...but I know what it's like to take out your own self loathing on other people. You and I both know from experience that it's not going to make you feel any better. Really, all that we ever did was perpetuate the same social ignorance that kept us from accepting ourselves." He looked up at me, confusion overcoming the hazel in his eyes.

"Wh- what do you mean?" he questioned softly with a child-like innocence that made me notice how large he appeared inside of the desk. God, it broke my heart to see such a tragic embodiment of physical irony within such a pained individual.

"Okay, look at it this way: if you came out and everyone started calling you names or treating you differently, would it make you any less gay?"

"Don't...don't say that word." His stuttering and current vulnerability was absolutely heart wrenching. I felt so guilty for trying to tear him down the way I did. He was so _scared_ and I took advantage of that. But now, I just wanted to show him that he was safe with me, that he could trust someone. I knew I should have just done that from the start and I knew that it wouldn't be easy, but if it took hours or days or even weeks to convince him of my honest intentions, I would.

"David, you can answer the question. No one is going to hear us," I said with all of the sympathy and understanding in my body.

He stayed silent for a moment and I could recognize the expression on his face. He was rounding up his courage, mustering up the strength to be open and honest with not only himself, but someone else.

"No," he whispered.

"Okay, so how is that any different than what you're doing to Rachel? I know she's loud and seems weird, but has any slushie you've ever thrown in her face changed her at all?"

"I guess not, no...but, but I don't see what you're getting at."

"You bullying Rachel...you're just showing everyone else that it's okay to not accept people who seem different, that it's okay to try and change them and soon, that's gonna come around and bite you in the ass. But you...you could really change things. Believe it or not, people look up to you. You're a football jock and a bit of a stud and in Ohio, that goes a long way. And instead you use your influence for evil...Darth Karofsky."

"What did you just call me?" he questioned as his face scrunched in bewilderment.

"Look," I said, choosing to ignore his question. "You have to realize that your actions are breaking you down in more ways than one, but just as importantly, they're affecting others as well. A lot of others."

"Okay, I guess I get what you're saying but you used to be the worst of us all. No more than ten minutes ago, you pushed me against a locker and called me a shit eater...and now you're trying to preach at me?" he questioned without any condescension, which made me suddenly confident. The honesty in his tone made me hopeful that I was getting through to him, that he was being open to discussion.

"Earlier, that was an accident. I mean, I knew what I was doing but you were right, I didn't understand _what _I was doing. I just saw that you hurt my friend, a person who's trying her hardest to show _me_ that the cycle can be broken, and I just snapped. I immediately became everything I used to hate about myself. And that's what the hardest part about all of this is. It's like a bad habit that you can't quite shake, that keeps rearing its ugly head even when you have the best intentions. And sometimes I swear the guilt is so heavy, it feels crippling. But the struggle is worth it. That moment when you finally realize that you can look somebody in the eye without any exchange of threat or hatred or even shame, it makes everything worth it. You could have that, David. You could do great things for people...you just have to try."

"Look, I don't know..." he said disbelievingly but I could tell he was understanding me, that I was getting through to him. He just needed a little more push.

"Trust me. I know you don't have a reason to, you said that earlier, but I would never ask someone that if I knew I had the intention of letting them down...so trust me."

There was a brief pause as David lowered his head in thought. After a moment, his eyes found mine and this time, they held something that seemed all too rare for him: hope. "You really think I could change, that I could make things better?"

A smile crept across my face and I felt my chest lighten significantly. "Definitely," I affirmed to him confidently. "You might not have everyone's support at first, but they'll come around. They just need a strong leader to help them out of the dark. Consider it, please."

"Alright," he nodded with a crooked, yet faint grin. "I'll try."

"Thank you so much. You're doing a really great thing." I hopped down from the desk and closed the gap between us. He craned his neck upwards and I placed my hands on top of the idle pair in front of me. "And if you ever need anyone...for anything, not just this whole cold-turkey desertion of bullying thing, you can come to me, okay?"

"Okay," he said quietly. We exchanged soft smiles and I squeezed his hand gently before letting go. "So you won't tell anyone then?"

I straightened my posture and rose my right hand into the hair. "On my honor."

He let out a light chuckle and the rhythm of his laughter somehow felt warm. "Thank you."

"No problem," I responded. As I began heading back towards the door, a thought crossed my mind and I turned back towards him. "Hey, David?"

"...yeah?" he questioned curiously.

"I really am sorry," I said, my eyes not diverting from his even though it felt as if the floor was almost begging me to stare, to invalidate my genuine profession with such an act of cowardice.

"I know," he replied with a reassuring nod and I felt yet another weight lift off of my chest.

"Please keep her safe, okay?" I asked, the tone of delicate beseeching not missed by David. He looked at me with an almost knowing before nodding in conformation.

I walked out of the empty classroom and was immediately greeted by Rachel. Her hair was still covered in slushie and suddenly I felt guilty for not asking her to meet me in the restroom so she wasn't standing there in a puddle of corn syrup and food dye. She stormed up to me with a subtle fury in her eyes and I began preparing myself for the partially misguided yet completely deserved berating I was about to face. "Quinn, what were you _thinking_?!"

"I wasn't but please let me explain," I begged as I tried to reach out to place a hand on her shoulder. She smacked my hand away and pointed at me expressively and with a huff, an act I probably would have found oddly adorable under any other circumstances.

"Do you realize the possible repercussions if you really were to..." she paused for a moment, checking the seemingly empty hallway for any after-school stragglers before continuing on in a cautious yet harsh whisper, "...out him to the whole school?!"

"Rachel, I've done some awful things in my day, but I would never in a million years consider _really_ outing someone like that. It's just that...he hurt you and I wanted to make sure it never happened again," I attempted to justify, but the stern look still present on her face only proved that my vindicating shrug held no merit.

"That's very noble of you, Quinn, but your method, albeit effective, was absolutely shameful! Deplorable even!" she exclaimed, still holding on to the aggressively hushed tone. I started to panic, fearing that maybe even though I fixed things with David, I could have done something irreversible with Rachel.

"I know," I said with a pleading despondency. "I didn't want to take it that far, I swear I didn't, but seeing you like that, so close to breaking down, it made me snap. I promise I have never once thought I would ever tell anyone about what I saw. I didn't _want_ to tell anyone. But what happened, what I did, that was the result of a momentary relapse. I'm just...I'm so sorry you had to see that side of me again, Rachel. I'm _so _sorry. But...but know he's not gonna hurt you ever again. No one is going to hurt you ever again."

"At what cost, Quinn?" she questioned with a level of defeat that chipped at the walls of my increasingly fragile heart.

"Nothing," I said, mentally noting the miraculousness behind my voice not cracking.

"What do you mean _nothing_ ?"

"I mean there's no catch," I reassured. I heard the final after-school bell ring and I whipped my head around to stare at the clock over my shoulder, realizing I had only five minutes to get to Cheerios. "_Shit_. Listen, Rachel, I can explain all of this, but I have to get to practice or else Coach is going to make me bench press detergent boxes filled with concrete for two hours. Are you free tonight?"

"Yes I am, but I don't know if..."

"Nope, don't finish that," I interrupted. "I know you have to stay late for your GayLesbAl meeting tonight so meet me in front of the school at like, 5:40."

"How did you know I have a GayLesbAl meeting tonight?" she asked with a surprise that implied she had temporarily forgotten she was supposed to be angry.

"Details, Rachel. Just meet me then. We're going to talk and I'm going to explain everything to you and then you're going to understand why you should consider not being mad at me, okay? Please, trust me."

She sighed heavily and with a roll of her eyes gave me my second reassuring nod of the day. "Alright, Quinn. I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt on this one but if I figure out-"

"Great! Thank you so much!" I blurted out, almost happily, as I reached out and squeezed both of Rachel's arms softly. Immediately, I broke into a sprint but before I turned the corner at the end of the hallway, I yelled loudly over my shoulder, "5:40! See you then!"

xxxx

Leaving Cheerios was one of the hardest things I had ever done. I wanted to hide out for the rest of my life, allowing no company but my own self-loathing. Sure, she may have gave in a little bit, at least telling me she'd allow me to explain myself, but I still couldn't help but spend the entirety of practice absolutely _terrified_ that she wouldn't show, that I wouldn't get a chance at resolve, that I had fucked up beyond repair. No level of fear, however, could have kept me from a recent, almost nagging need of chastity, of a clear conscience. I _had_ to explain myself, both of us deserved that.

By exactly 5:40, I had made it to the front of the school. I found Rachel sitting, patiently waiting on the steps right outside of the main entrance. Seeing her there made my heart flutter in confidence, in hopefulness. If she trust me enough to actually show, then maybe I _could_ fix this.

I sat down next to her and she turned towards me as soon as I had impacted with the concrete. "Quinn, I-"

"You're probably thinking some terrible...and partially true things about me right now and I know you have a few choice words that you feel as if I should hear, but I need to tell you what happened in that classroom first."

"I really think-"

"Please, just let me go first." I felt bad for continually interrupting her, but I knew that if I didn't get everything out of my mind as soon as possible, those awful seeds I planted with my awful actions would begin to grow and take root in her mind, forever tarnishing the beautiful foundation we had so recently laid between each other.

"When we went into that room, I swear I didn't say anything else even remotely mean to David. I apologized...profusely. I was there for him, I told him things were going to get better and that he's capable of so many great things...because he is, and I promised him that I would be there to help him with anything whenever he needed me. I meant every word of it and I think he knew that because when we talked to one another, we were both honest, open. I didn't victimize him and I didn't pretend that I was innocent either.

"But I don't want you to think that I think I was right in doing what I did. I wasn't. It was an awful thing to do and I didn't ever want to see that version of myself again. While it was happening it felt almost surreal. It was like I went into some sort of vicious autopilot and once I snapped out of it, I was _so _disgusted with myself." I paused as my eyes flickered towards the cement. My face had to look terribly downtrodden and my voice shook as I whispered, "I don't ever want to feel that way again."

She let out another sigh before questioning, "But why? Why did you do it, Quinn? Why did you take it so far?"

"I...I did it because I wanted to protect you. Not just physically...even though I know how awful it feels getting bitchslapped by a big gulp, but mentally. I want to protect who you _are_. I don't want anyone to turn you cold, to make you bitter. You're so strong-willed so I know you'd never allow it to happen, but I don't want to take my chances because truth be told, you're kind of my beacon of hope now. You give me a reason to believe in people, in humanity and goodness. You're the only person who's ever gone out of their way to _truly _show me what it means to be a good person. Sure, what I did in the hallway was for you, but what I said to David in that classroom, that was _because _of you.

"You make me want to be better, Rachel, and not just for myself...for you, so you know you're not alone in your compassion. Because what I've realized, what you've taught me, is that your level of kindness comes from a rare breed of courage. It doesn't come easy for people, especially not for those with a track record like mine, but I want to show you that you are proof of the possibilities and potential of mankind. That you're an influence. It may take me awhile, I proved that today, but with you around I know I've got the best teacher in the world. Just please be patient with me, Rach. Please. Because now that I know what it's like to have you around, I don't know if I ever want to be in the dark again."

She looked at me and the daggers were gone. Instead I saw something I wasn't quite ready to believe in yet, that I couldn't believe in yet. "So you did it for me?"

"Would it scare you away if I did?"

"Not if it's the truth," she said with a shake of her head.

"Then yes."

"And that's really how you feel about me?" she questioned.

I nodded, knowing that I wasn't being entirely truthful. She knew how I really felt, I heard it in her question, but in all honesty, _I _didn't know how I felt or at least, I didn't know how to put it into words. Not any that would make sense outside of my own mind.

The truth was, when I thought about her, when any vision of her danced through my head, I felt like I was in a perpetual downfall. My thoughts span out of control, my stomach pulled on itself, the world warped and flashed before me. It always felt like that too. It never ended. Frankly, I didn't want it to. She was my rabbit hole, and no wonders in this world or any other could have made me ever want to stop falling, weightless and warm and pulled by the gravity of Rachel Berry. She was the sky and the moon and every star in the sky and I would happily float through her universe for an eternity.

" I can't believe you called me 'Rach'," she said through a shy laugh before silently giving in to her thoughts for a moment. I swear, watching her concentrate was better than even the best gestures of my brain. "You know, two years ago, if someone would have told me that Quinn Fabray would one day be waxing poetic in my honor, I would have called them crazy."

She laughed again and I knew somewhere there had to be a whole galaxy filled with her laughter.

"I don't know how or when it happened, but you're kind of my favorite now," I said. It wasn't everything and it surely wasn't enough, but it was the closest version of the truth I could currently give her. A blush crept across her tanned cheeks and she broke our contact to begin staring at her now-fidgeting feet.

"You're kind of my favorite now, too," she whispered out and suddenly I knew that if flowers could speak, they would envy the hum of her voice.

* * *

I'm a bit worried about this chapter, I know it's a sensitive topic, especially amongst the Glee community. If I didn't handle it properly please let me know and I will be happy to change what needs to be changed.

I know it took me a disgustingly long time to update so thank you for your patience. All of the crazy in my life has passed so updates should be more frequent. On a related note, a thanks is also needed to those of you who gave me well wishes. And one final thank you to everyone who takes time to involve themselves in my story in any way.

to the eyebrows anon: I spent the five minutes after reading your comment alternating between laughing and attempting to "look over my eyebrows". No more than two days later I was reading The Hobbit and Gandolf was noted as looking "from under his eyebrows," which I found to be not only in good time, but quite hilarious. Needless to say, I went back and corrected myself. Thank you for pointing out my error, which I can assure you is one I will never make again :)

tumblr: wholemottalovin


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